The Unexpected
by etcetera nine
Summary: Fifteen years after Sarah left the Labyrinth, she and the Goblin King meet again, but it doesn't quite live up to either of their expectations. First, there was the wish. And then, well… there was all that wine…
1. Chapter 1: The Bottle

1. The Bottle

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

Sarah stood in front of her door. Someone was calling her.

"All right, all right," she muttered, unlocking the top lock, then the bottom, and then the middle, which always stuck, and needed wiggling. The phone kept ringing insistently, and Sarah, now inside, tried to simultaneously kick off her heels – God, her feet were killing her – put her handbag on the side table, and shut the door behind her. It didn't work, and she stumbled over her black pumps and the contents of her bag – her makeup, her half a dozen pens that she always carried around for some reason, and all the business cards she'd managed to collect tonight – scattered themselves across her narrow entranceway.

Still, the phone rang, more impatient than before.

A quick glance at the clock above the kitchen sink told her it was past 11pm, and Sarah was very, very tired, and her feet hurt, and she had a bottle of Rioja that was waiting for her, and all she wanted to do was curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and –

The phone rang again.

"Fucking CHRIST," Sarah snapped, crossing the last few remaining steps to her desk with more energy than she thought she had in her. She picked up the phone. "What!" she barked into the receiver. "What?"

"…Sarah?" The voice was tentative.

Shit, thought Sarah. "Karen? Is that you?"

"Everything all right?"

"Yes. Yes. I'm sorry, it's just… it's been a long day."

"I'm guessing you're just getting in," Karen said, "Since I've been calling every half hour since 7, and I'm just getting you now. If you'd only get a cell phone! Did you have another party?"

"Yeah," Sarah said, rubbing the sore instep of her foot against the back of her calf. "A restaurant launch. We've been working on this one for months. I'm glad it's over, but I'm exhausted."

"Oh. Well, I won't keep you. I just wanted to know… are you still coming tomorrow? You know, for your birthday?"

Shit, thought Sarah again. "Right. Right. Um, I'm not sure, Karen –"

"It won't be anything big, I know you're busy. I just thought, maybe a barbecue? It's supposed to be so nice out this weekend. It's finally spring, after all this bad weather. So much rain, even for April! Besides, we haven't seen you in months… You only turn 30 once, sweetheart," continued Karen, trying desperately not to sound desperate in that way she had, and not completely succeeding.

"I know." Sarah did know, and she preferred, actually, not to think about it, thanks all the same. She had been very successful at not thinking about it since her last birthday.

"And Toby's been asking when we'd see you." Karen paused, expectant. The guilt that had been slowly building in Sarah washed over her in full force.

"All right," she said, admitting defeat. Karen knew she would do anything for her little brother, a fact that she took advantage of only in extreme circumstances. Well… it had been months since she'd gone home. It might be fun. And it would be good to see Toby. "Okay. Barbecue. Birthday. Got it. What time?"

"I was thinking about 11, so we –"

"Noon," Sarah interjected. "At the earliest. I plan on at least eight hours sleep tonight, I haven't had more than five in weeks, it feels like."

"Noon's fine," Karen said, quickly. "It'll be so good to see you." She sounded so pleased. "And I haven't seen Jeff for ages," she continued.

Sarah was struck by another wave of guilt. "It'll be good to see you too," she said. And she meant it. She did. She rubbed her forehead wearily. "But, uh… no Jeff."

"Oh, Sarah," Karen sighed, crestfallen. "What happened? We really _liked_ him."

"I did, too. Or, I thought I did. He… I'm too tired to get into it now."

"All right," Karen said, her tone implying that she'd get the rest of the story later. "Well. Has um… your mother…?"

"No. She hasn't called." Sarah kept her voice free of emotion, something that she had a lot of practice with when dealing with her mother. "But I don't really expect her to."

"Maybe tomorrow, then," Karen said, trying to sound cheerful. "Tomorrow. See you tomorrow. And hey – happy birthday. You'll be 30 in less than an hour." Sarah looked at the clock again. It was 11:15pm, now. "And I wish –"

"Karen!" Sarah cut in frantically, her old habits not dying at all, and still alive and well. "You know that I don't –"

"Oh, Sarah, really! Don't be so silly! You're almost 30 now, you can stop with all that stuff. I'm allowed to wish you a happy birthday, aren't I?"

"Well…" Sarah trailed off, lost in thought. She was almost 30. It had been years – 15, in fact. Fifteen years of no wishes. Fifteen years of catching her words before they spilled out of her mouth, afraid of something strange happening.

Afraid of nothing strange happening.

Fifteen years… and nothing.

_(Nothing, nothing, tra la la?)_

Surely a happy birthday couldn't hurt?

Fuck it, Sarah thought. She was almost 30, after all. "All right. Fine. Yes, wish me a happy birthday, please. Go ahead." Ridiculous, Sarah thought to herself. She was being ridiculous.

Karen laughed. "Finally! Okay! Sarah, I wish you a very, very happy birthday. I wish you the best birthday you have ever, ever had –"

Sarah laughed too, almost giddy in the feeling of disobeying one of her own rules, one of the Ten Commandments of Sarah Williams. Thou shalt always use your right words. "Thanks –"

But Karen wasn't finished. "I wish you an eternity of happiness." Sarah's heart, which had previously been fluttering pleasantly, was now in her throat, beating like a terrified bird. "I wish you everything you want in life, forever." She paused, and Sarah seized the chance to interrupt – "Okay! Okay. Enough wishes, now. Thanks."

"Sorry, I got so carried away. Such a silly superstition to have, you know? But you were such a strange girl when you were younger, always in your own little world…" Karen kept talking, but Sarah had stopped paying attention, scanning her apartment, straining to hear into the kitchen, stretching the phone cord as far as it went to peer around the doorframe into her bedroom. Nothing.

The terrified bird in her heart was calming down, fluttering gently. Nothing. Of course, nothing. She was being ridiculous. Nothing.

Just as she was afraid of.

"…and Toby's going to have his friends over, for his band practice, and then we'll do the barbecue. Sound good?"

Sarah shook her head quickly, and tried to figure out where she had left the conversation. "Right! Good. Tomorrow. Noon."

"See you tomorrow, sweetheart," Karen said, happily. "Toby will be so excited when I tell him. He's probably still awake now, I can see a light still on in the hall. God knows you father passed out hours ago…"

"Good night Karen," Sarah said, pointedly. "I'm going to bed now."

"Of course! Of course. Good night sweetie. See you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you, too," Sarah said, and meant it. She hung up.

What she hadn't meant, however, was the part about going to bed. Sarah padded through her living room to her kitchen, carefully avoiding the heels, her handbag, and its contents, which were all still scattered by her door. She paused in the kitchen doorway. Still nothing.

"Ridiculous," she muttered, to herself, to the empty apartment. To the no one who had come.

She yanked the bottle down from the cabinet by the fridge, pulled two glasses from the drying rack, and picked her way back through the kitchen and the living room, collapsing on the sofa. It was only when she was done pouring her own glass that she realized she had taken two, out of habit, and there was no one left to pour for.

Jeff, you asshole, Sarah thought, staring at the empty glass. She practically threw her wine down her throat. It was good, and tasted of raspberries. She felt a childish sense of happiness in the fact that she was going to drink it on her own. They had bought it together three weeks ago, with the plan to drink it on her birthday. Asshole, she thought again, pouring a second glass, and raising it to the ceiling. Fuck him.

When that one was finished, Sarah felt much more relaxed, and a bit drunker than she had intended. She had had a few glasses of champagne at the launch that night, and no dinner, and she was just pleasantly drunk enough to not have to think too much about what she was doing. She pushed herself up and made her way to the closet in her bedroom, where she pulled out a big, empty shoebox that had once held a pair of boots. She brought it back into her living room, to the trio of dark wooden bookcases that lined the wall behind her sofa. She scanned the shelves one by one, running her finger along the tops of the spines, and pulling a few out. She paused in fiction, and biographies, but skipped over poetry entirely. She dropped his books into the shoebox, one by one. "Goodbye, Ayn Rand, you preachy, sanctimonious old bitch," Sarah said, as the last one fell in.

When she was done, she brought the box to her table, plopped it down, and glared at it. There was a Sharpie on the side of the table, and she used it to scrawl a note on lid. Looking at her messy chicken scratchings, she realized that she really was drunker than she thought. Fuck him, she thought, capping the Sharpie angrily. Fuck him, the fucker. She stumbled back to the sofa. There was still half the bottle left.

One more glass went down. Still good, Sarah thought, looking at the bottle pensively. Still tastes like raspberries. And I am going to finish this wine, because it is mine now, and I am alone, and no one is here to stop me, because Jeff is a fucker, and I am alone, and it's almost my birthday, and – she looked at the clock. It was 12:03.

It was her birthday. She was 30. She was alone, and she was drunk. She had no boyfriend. She was 30. Her job was exhausting, and she wanted to sleep for a month, but she had to be awake in less than nine hours to take a three hour drive to see her dad, and her stepmother, and her little brother, who would want to know what had happened to her boyfriend, who had been _so nice._ And there were just two glasses of wine left in the bottle. She poured herself one more, and stared at it. Thirty. There was not nearly enough wine, Sarah thought sadly, to deal with this shit. She wondered what else she had in her cabinet.

"Fuck," she muttered, angry now. "Fuck this! Fuck this shit, so hard, I am much too drunk right now to deal with it, it is my fucking birthday, and I'm here alone in my shitty apartment, and I'm going to have to drink this wine, by myself, alone, and –"

"Actually, precious, that's where you're wrong."

There were words, and she heard them, and they definitely hadn't come out of her mouth, because it was still open, mid-rant. She turned first her eyes, very slowly, and then the rest of her head, to the left, her mouth still half open and her arm out, dangerously sloshing what remained of the wine in her glass.

The Goblin King was sitting on her loveseat.

Sarah had always thought that when she saw the Goblin King again, he would come with a thunderstorm. There would be lightning, and the air would smell of magic, which in her memory was a combination of a log fire and something darker, and sweet. The lights would flash.

There was none of that. Her apartment was still the same. It still smelled slightly of lavender, and she could still hear her neighbor watching television upstairs. Everything was still the same. And yet, there he was. The Goblin King. Sitting on her loveseat.

"You," Sarah started. "You. You."

"Yes. Me. I'm glad you've established that. I'm me, and you're you." He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. "And I think, judging by the way you're waving that glass around, and the obscenity-strewn tirade I just interrupted, that you're drunk." He gestured to the empty glass. "Expecting someone?"

"No," she said. Then, "Yes."

He cocked his head, and studied her. He smirked. "You _are _drunk, aren't you, Sarah?"

That fucking smirk. That was still the same, too. "You," she said again. His smirk grew a tiny bit wider. No! Focus, Williams! The fucking Goblin King is in your fucking apartment. Use your words!

"Fucking Karen," she said, instead. "Fuck it." She gestured to the empty wine glass. "Would you like the rest of the bottle?"

The smirk fell off the Goblin King's face, and slowly – slow enough for Sarah's heart to speed up for just a second – it was replaced by a real smile, an actual grin, and he laughed. "Yes," he said. "I would."

She poured the rest of the wine into the empty glass, and pushed it along the coffee table towards him. He took it, acknowledging his thanks with a tilt of his head. "Your birthday?" he asked. He raised his glass. "Many happy returns."

I am toasting with the Goblin King, thought Sarah, very calmly, and said, "Thanks." Her hand was steady as she raised her glass as well. They both took a sip.

The Goblin King made an appreciative noise, then put his glass back down and resumed gazing at her. He seemed to be searching her face for something, but Sarah couldn't say what. She waited. "You look different," he said, finally. "You've grown." His voice sounded odd. Was he… disappointed?

"Yeah, well… that tends to happen, when time passes," Sarah replied, still strangely calm. "You look…" She looked. "Exactly the same." She thought of the lack of thunder, the lack of magic, the lack of fear that she was feeling.

_(I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me.) _

Was she not living up to his expectations, either?

"I thought…" he started, then tried again. "You're not screaming at me. Running away."

"No," agreed Sarah. "I'm not doing that."

"Not rushing to the protection of your baby brother, either."

At this, Sarah laughed. She stretched her legs out to rest her feet on the coffee table, crossed her arms behind her head, and stared up at the ceiling. "Toby? Well, let's see. He's almost six feet tall, he plays drums in a band with his friends, and he just made the junior varsity track team. And, like any 16-year-old, he's convinced he knows everything. He can even grow a sad little moustache." She laughed again. "Trust me, he can take care of himself, now."

She looked back at the Goblin King, but he wasn't laughing along with her. Something passed across his face. He looked…

"What did you say?" his voice sounded cold.

"Junior varsity track team?" Sarah ventured. "Sad little moustache?"

"How old is your… baby brother?"

"Sixteen," said Sarah. "Seventeen in September."

The Goblin King leapt up off her loveseat and began pacing around her tiny living room. He seemed angry, unhinged, and for the first time since she had seen him again, Sarah felt afraid.

"You're lying. It hasn't been – surely – " he stopped in front of her, staring down, and Sarah saw that she had been wrong before. He didn't look the same, not at all, not up close. He looked exhausted. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his face…

"He was a baby," the Goblin King said. He sounded like he was pleading, thought Sarah.

"Yes, he was," she agreed, slowly. "But that was years ago. Fifteen years. It's been a long time, Goblin King."

His eyes were haunted. He held her gaze for a moment, then broke it. He walked back to her loveseat and, sinking down, put his head in his hands. "Fifteen years," he said, his voice muffled. "So long."

Sarah knew that she could deal with an angry Goblin King. A seductive Goblin King, a flirty Goblin King, a demanding Goblin King. She could handle those.

But she had never seen a defeated Goblin King, which was what he looked like now, slumped on her loveseat. Even when she had beaten him, 15 years ago, he hadn't looked like this.

Several minutes passed in silence. Neither of them moved.

"I'm 30 today," Sarah ventured, finally, desperate to say something, anything. "Happy birthday to me."

He looked up when she spoke. "And celebrating alone," he said, evenly. "No husband? No… children… to wish you a happy birthday?"

She spread out her hands, palms up, and gestured out at her tiny apartment. "No. No room for anyone else in this place. There's just me."

The Goblin King settled back on her loveseat, returning to the imperious posture he had started the night out with. He stretched out his long legs, and, mimicking her, crossed them and rested them on the coffee table. He seemed more himself now, back to… back to whatever she thought of as normal, for him. He changed moods so quickly. She remembered that.

Sarah raised an eyebrow. He had his boots – black, and gleaming, stretching up to his knees – on her coffee table. "Hey! Don't think you can come into my home and put your shoes on my furniture. I just got this table for a really good deal on Craigslist, and I'll thank you not to get it dirty with your fancy-ass boots."

"Do you dislike my choice of clothing?" he asked. He stared at her. Sarah felt his eyes run along the length of her bare legs, pausing at the hemline of her little black dress that she had bought last year at H&M, lingering where the fabric clung to her hips, up to her neck, and down to the dip in the material at her breasts. She fought the urge to cross her arms and tuck her legs back underneath her. One look, and he could make her feel like an insecure teenager again.

"I like yours," he said. "You _have_ grown. Fifteen years…" His voice had started out being flirty, but by the end, the shadow had crept back in.

"You called me now," he said, flatly. "Why?" His face held no expression.

"I… I didn't," said Sarah.

"Don't lie to me, Sarah," he said, his voice clipped, sharp. "Why else would I find myself here, in your home? You called on me. Why, after fifteen years, did you call my name? I have already offered you everything, and you rejected it. What more would you ask of me? What more would you have me do?"

"I didn't call you!" said Sarah, angrily. "I didn't! I've _never_ said your – "

"Never?" whispered the Goblin King. "You've never?"

Sarah said nothing. The conversation had changed, somehow, and so had this game that they were playing, and she wasn't sure where it was going.

"You know my name. Say it."

Sarah said nothing, and couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes.

"Say it."

Sarah swallowed. "Jar-… Jareth," she stuttered out, finally, the syllables struggling, falling from her lips as if she'd never said them before. She hadn't lied. That was true.

She lifted her eyes to his. His face was still blank. "No," he said, his voice calm. "You are right. You've never called on me." He paused, and seemed to be considering something. "Why?"

Sarah shrugged. "I was… afraid." She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask her to.

"For a while, I had thought that maybe… you had forgotten," he said, quietly. She suddenly wanted to touch him, to lay a reassuring hand on his arm, very badly.

"No," she said. "No. No matter how much I wanted to, or how many times I tried, I never could have forgotten you."

The Goblin King sighed. With sadness? Wistfulness? Resignation? Sarah couldn't tell, and the sound seemed to convey much more emotion than she could put into words.

They sat in silence for a few moments. "Karen…" began Sarah. "My stepmother. She wished, for me…"

"Yes?" asked the Goblin King, sounding only mildly curious.

"She wished me a happy birthday," Sarah said quickly, aware of how stupid it sounded, but the Goblin King only smiled.

He had a nice smile, she found herself thinking, even if his teeth were kind of weird, and slightly pointy, and she smiled back without realizing she was doing it.

"Well then," he said. "If she wished it for you, and brought me here, then you shall have it. What would you like for your birthday, Sarah?"

_(This isn't a gift for an ordinary girl.)_

"You shall have whatever you want. Whatever you… desire." His voice had gotten back the seductive, rolling purr it had had when he had been admiring her dress. She had always loved his voice, had remembered it, had often thought of it when –

Sarah, you need to go to bed, she told herself firmly. Or you will be hungover tomorrow. Go to bed.

"Right now, I would like to go to bed," she said out loud, standing up. She crossed the floor to the small closet by her doorway, and pulled a sheet and a pillow from the top shelf. The Goblin King was looking at her curiously.

"Why, Sarah… I never thought you were that kind of girl."

She dropped the pillow and the sheet onto the sofa, and pulled the blanket off the back of it. She thrust the blanket at the Goblin King, leaning over him and looking him in the eye. He had beautiful eyes, she thought, absently. She wondered, as she had many more times than she'd like to admit, what had happened to make his left eye the way it was, the pupil so large. She had thought they were different colors, at first, but then, when they had danced, when he was holding her, she had looked up at him and seen –

He smirked, and her memory shattered like glass. Stupid Sarah, she thought. Don't be such a fucking idiot. And he didn't even need the poisoned fruit this time. She studied the pleased look on his face, and thought, I _have_ grown. I can play this game, too. She arranged her presumably dopey expression into something more appropriately come-hither. Fuck it.

"Oh, I'm that kind of girl, Goblin King." Her voice sounded low and seductive to her own ears, and she tried not to smirk herself as the grin fell off his face. She leant down further, and stroked his thigh gently. "I am _definitely_ that kind of girl." She watched the muscles in his throat as he swallowed, slowly. He was looking at her now like she was a wild thing, and he was afraid to make any sudden moves. She could feel the effect of the wine on her, making her bolder, making her brave. She leant forward even more, close enough to whisper in his ear, letting her long, dark hair touch his shoulder and making sure he got a good glimpse down the neckline of her dress. "And right now… what I really want?" she breathed. One hand lingered on his thigh, stroking softly. With the other, she brushed the tips of her fingers along the line of his jaw. His skin was very warm.

"Yes?" said the Goblin King, his voice carefully controlled. She could hear him breathing heavily, evenly. "What is it you want, Sarah?"

She stood up. "What I really want, right now, is to go to bed. Alone. I'm too drunk to deal with all this right now. I'll talk to you in the morning." She pointed at the sofa. "You're on the couch."

She walked to her bedroom, went inside, and turned to look back. He was staring at her, still clutching the blanket. Sarah was pleased to see that he had an incredibly stupid expression on his face, and his mouth was hanging open slightly. Sarah – 2, Goblin King – 0, she thought triumphantly, but said only, "Goodnight, Jareth," as she shut the door.

_A/N: Hello! This is my first fanfic, and I have to admit, I haven't seen this film in a long time. I hope I got it right, and did it justice. If not – I'm sorry. But this story made its way into my head, and wouldn't leave me alone until I let it out. _

_If you like this story so far, please let me know. And if you really like it, well, I have good news – I've finished it. It's seven chapters, and I'll try to post one each week. If you don't like this story so far, please let me know, too – but, be nice about it, would you? _


	2. Chapter 2: The Box

2. The Box

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

Jareth stared at Sarah's retreating form. She turned. "Goodnight, Jareth," she said softly, lingering in the doorway to her bedroom.

Then she shut the door in his face.

Jareth blinked. He shook his head, as if to clear it from everything that had just happened. His face – and his thigh – were still tingling from where she had touched him. She had touched him… he glanced down at his lap. He shook his head again, but this time, he smiled.

He laughed. He had to laugh, really. What else could he do? Sarah Williams had bested him again – left him speechless, confused, and alone, again. You're losing your touch, he thought. She ought to be no match for you.

Sarah Williams, he thought. Fifteen years. He Pulled a crystal, then two more, all empty, and rolled them idly in his hand, as was his habit when thinking. He thought.

He was very, very old. To be more precise, in Aboveground years, he was four thousand, six hundred and eighty two years old.

For several thousand of those years he had amused himself satisfactorily, never once succumbing to the emotion that dominated his life once he had been… bestowed… with the title of Goblin King.

Boredom.

When he first arrived in the Goblin City, he navigated the Labyrinth, investigating every tunnel, twist and hidey-hole. That took six weeks. He arranged for the hedge maze to be trimmed, thought up some new traps for potential runners, redecorated the castle, and had a garden planted: seven months. He sorted through the paperwork left by the previous Goblin King, M'raug the Merciless, and his predecessor Girok, Harbinger of Eternal Death and Mandatory Bathing: three years, mainly thanks to the cuneiform. After that, time slowed to a crawl.

He had been King of the Goblins, Ruler of the Goblin City and Keeper of the Labyrinth for one thousand, five hundred and thirty two years before Sarah.

Sarah. For slightly longer than ten precious hours, Jareth had been… entertained. He had watched her fear, her frustration, her anger, her determination, her bravery.

Her stubbornness.

She was the only one who had ever beaten him.

He had loved her the second she told him his Labyrinth was a piece of cake.

He should have tried harder to keep her longer, but he had been so convinced that she would stay. He had never had anyone turn down his offer of their dreams, before.

When she had left him, it caused an ache inside of him. A physical pain, like a hole above his heart, that pulsed when he thought of her. Which – walking the ruins of his castle, staring out the windows of his chambers, watching his Labyrinth tremble as it rebuilt itself, bit by bit – was often.

He had no idea it had been so long. Thinking of her, obsessing over her, had made him lose track of time. And all during his long, tedious, mind-numbingly dull rule before Sarah, he could count every single second. He had never lost track of time, before.

He had never had anyone say no to him, before, either.

If he had to estimate, he would have thought she had left him months ago. A year, maybe, at the most. But thinking back on it, if he tried hard enough, he could remember wandering his Labyrinth as the days stretched on, and the nights dragged, and the constellations shifted. When he closed his eyes – to sleep, to blink – her pale, cruel stare was waiting for him.

He wondered when it was that he had last had a good night's sleep, without being haunted by her face.

He had always thought that he would see her again, but he thought it would be sooner – immediately, after she came to her senses. After she realized what she had said, what she had done, what he had done for her. After he had left her celebrating his defeat with his traitorous subjects – her friends! – in her childish bedroom, full of her toys.

_(I do need you. All of you!)_

Perhaps a careless wish, an accidental whisper of his name while she was on the edge of sleep. He would come to her, she would be frightened at first, but then, then…

Then the Call never came, and he began to wonder if it ever would.

And tonight, he had resigned himself to another long, sleepless night in the endless chain of long, sleepless nights that his life had become, staring into the fireplace in his chambers, waiting – but then he had felt the Call, and he had Answered.

At first, he didn't realize how much time had passed for her. Her face was the same – a little thinner, perhaps, but still young. Still beautiful. She seemed tall, for a woman, which he liked, but not as tall as him, which he also liked. He thought of her long, pale legs, the press of her hips and the fullness of her breasts against that scrap of material she wore as a dress. Her dirty mouth.

He had liked that, too.

He thought of Sarah, of how he knew her, and this new Sarah, with him now just a room away, lying beneath her bedcovers and sleeping peacefully… or perhaps waiting, listening for the creak of his boots outside her door.

_(Oh, I'm that kind of girl, Goblin King.)_

He was not going to lie to himself – he had desired her, the Sarah from before, the one who he couldn't help but think of as his. She was young, yes – but a woman, even so. Her innocence, her naivety, captivated him. He had thought of her often as she had looked in her dream, the one he had tried to Walk into, only to find that she had dreamt him there already. That had been a pleasant surprise.

He had thought of her often, her pale skin, her green eyes, her dark hair. Her red mouth, lips slightly parted as she looked at him with a mixture of confusion, fear and wonder. He had thought of her often, whether she would look at him with the same confusion, and fear, and wonder, as he became the first to touch her, to please her. How she would look at him as she came apart for him, as he stroked her, tasted her, filled her, claimed her. He was not going to lie to himself.

He had thought of her so often, he was sure he knew her.

_(I am definitely that kind of girl.)_

This new Sarah – he didn't know her at all.

Well, he thought, rising to his feet, Vanishing the crystals, and shaking off the dark mood that had drifted back over him, no time like the present. He looked around her tiny living space. He was nothing if not resourceful.

He started with her kitchen, methodically opening every drawer and cupboard, examining boxes and bottles. She had no more wine, but she had several containers of dried pasta and a folder full of menus for restaurants that boasted free delivery. On her counters, she had some appliances he recognized – one was a toaster – and some he was unsure of. He pressed no buttons, but peered inside the lid of a large glass that seemed to have a blade at the bottom. It looked dangerous, and reminded him of the contraption he had built for the Tunnels.

He stood in front of a large metal cupboard, divided in two, with a long handle down one side. He paused, pulled a picture from the back of his mind, and updated it: icebox. He opened the top cabinet, which was freezing, and contained frozen round things with holes in them that had perhaps once been bread, and cubes of ice in a tray. Sarah had frozen a bowl of grapes, and he pulled off a handful and ate them thoughtfully, wondering both when it was he had last eaten anything, and the logistics of getting one of these boxes into his castle. His kitchen staff would be undoubtedly appreciative.

He opened the bottom half, which was still cold, but not as cold as the top. It contained only a few apples that had seen better days, and a tub of something that called itself cream cheese, but was, upon inspection, neither cheese nor cream, but more like a spread. Jareth put the lid back on, disappointed – he was very fond of cheese. And cream.

Moving into the main room, Jareth headed towards Sarah's bookshelves. There were three of them, large and dark, and they dominated one wall. On her other walls, Sarah had several artworks framed, but he could tell at a glance they were reproductions, and worthless. They were beautiful, though – women in long gowns, curling tendrils of hair wrapping around their bodies, fine detailing. What was that artist's name again? wondered Jareth, idly. Something Bohemian.

He was glad to see that she still read. That, at least, hadn't changed. Scanning the shelves, he saw several names that he recognized – the everpresent Shakespeare had nearly an entire shelf dedicated to himself, and he was surprised to see people were still reading Chaucer, after all this time – but more that he didn't. Much was fiction. There were many books of poetry – Jareth spent several pleasant minutes reading love poems by a man named Neruda, quite talented – and some books of essays and criticism, with yellow stickers on the spines that said USED. Cracking one open, he could see handwritten notes in different styles, but when he couldn't decipher which writing was Sarah's, he put it back on the shelf.

Sighing, he took a step back. He was an extraordinarily fast reader, but even he couldn't attempt to make a dent in Sarah's shelves before she woke. He glanced out her window. It was still dark, and he still had no idea who she was.

As he let his eyes drift back from the window, Jareth saw something red on the top corner of the rightmost bookshelf. He pulled it down, and opened it.

It was an album of photographs.

On the first page, Sarah as a little girl stood between her mother and father. She was missing her two front teeth, and smiling. Her parents were not.

Taking the album to the sofa, Jareth sat down, crossed his legs, and put it in his lap. He turned the pages, working his way through Sarah's childhood with each picture. A swingset. A doll, Sarah eyeing it disdainfully, with a revolted expression on her face that made him laugh. A picture of her class, Sarah in a pink dress, her hair in ribbons, smiling in the middle row. Sarah in some sort of sporting uniform. Her father, in a suit, arms around his new wife, and Sarah a reluctant, awkward bridesmaid. Her eyes stared at him from the picture, cruelly, accusingly, as if he were the one who had made her life so unfair. He traced the outline of her face. Maybe he was. He remembered that expression of hers, very well.

Then the pictures seemed to skip a year or so, because she was holding a baby on her lap. Toby. It was good to see him again, even if only in a photograph, Jareth thought. He wondered when the picture was taken, but judging from Sarah's protective grip on her brother, he thought it was perhaps after their encounter.

From there, the pictures sped up as Sarah's life passed rapidly with each page. Sarah and her friends, dressed up in costume, performing somewhere – a play, perhaps. A posed picture, with a tall, handsome boy in a badly fitting suit standing next to Sarah in a dark green dress, wearing a white flower on her wrist. Jareth followed the line of the boy's eyes as they went straight to Sarah's chest, and he fought the urge to scratch the boy's face out with his thumbnail. More pictures of Sarah and the boy, and their friends, making odd faces, wearing silly costumes, and dancing. Toby turned up occasionally, growing haphazardly.

A different group of friends now, and Jareth watched Sarah's clothes and hair change with each photograph. In most of them, she was with a tall, pretty girl with dark skin and long, black hair – but then their hair was both short, and dyed a repulsive green color. Sarah's friend's hair turned black again by the next photograph, but Sarah's was blue, then pink, then black as well. Their clothes were torn and unflattering, and Jareth felt slightly less upset that he missed this phase of Sarah's life. She looked ridiculous.

Sarah's hair returned to normal, and she and her friend were joined by older, better dressed people, posing in nightclubs and restaurants and weddings. In many, Sarah stood next to attractive men. Jareth, adept at reading people from thousands of years of observing small details, could tell that several of these men had been Sarah's lovers. They had no similarities, physically – their hair color, eye color, skin color, height, dress – those were all different. But they all had their arms, or hands, or eyes, on her body somewhere, possessively. Jareth was pleased to see that for the most part, Sarah seemed bored. It was only her expression that kept him from tearing at the pictures.

In the album's last photograph, Sarah's friend with the long dark hair wedded a man with bright red hair, somewhere on a beach. Sarah smiled at them, frozen in time and frozen in their happiness, in her pale blue dress, in her bare feet. She was standing alone.

Jareth closed the album, stood, and returned it to its rightful place back on the shelf. He felt suddenly more exhausted than he had felt all night, as if 15 years – 15 years of his life, 15 years of Sarah's life, 15 years of not getting a good night's sleep – was catching up to him all at once. Idly, he paced the room, lost in his thoughts of the photographs he'd just seen.

What was wrong with him? Why had he let her go on without him, for so long? Where would he be now, if he had suddenly found himself coming to his senses, breaking the Words – the Court would have had something to say about that, surely, but he could have found a precedent, he would have tried – and it had been 150 years, instead of 15? What would he have done, then?

Moved the stars? For her? For him? He did not want to deprive her of the life she had lived, already. It would not be fair.

He was nothing if not generous.

For 15 years, for half her life, she had not needed him. She had not wanted him. She had been too afraid to call his name.

She had remembered him, though, and maybe that was enough. It was a small consolation, but he would take it.

A box on her table caught his eye. There was a note on the lid. So this was Sarah's handwriting, he mused. It was terrible.

The note read:

_Jeff_

_Here is your SHIT back. I hated these books. _

_Guess you're not the only good liar, are you?_

_I thought you would be different. I was wrong._

_don't ever call me_

_you FUCKER. _

_S_

Well, thought Jareth. This was… interesting. He opened the box. True to Sarah's word, it held books. Jareth read the back of one, and was instantly bored. He closed the lid.

Jeff, Jeff, Jeff, thought Jareth. What have you done to my Sarah? Should I hunt you down, and avenge her? Should I terrify you? Or should I thank you?

Jareth didn't have enough of his name to cause any real harm, but trying to figure out what had happened between the two of them was an intriguing puzzle. Walking away from the table, Jareth headed towards Sarah's desk, and pulled out her chair, preparing to think. But as he sat down, he jostled something, and the large, dark box in front of him lit up.

"Hello," Jareth said quietly. "What are you?"

The box didn't respond – he didn't expect it to, he wasn't that much of a fool when it came to machinery – but Jareth tried to see what he had touched that had caused it to glow into life. "Are you a… television?" he muttered. "No, not quite right, you're not making nearly enough noise –"

A small box popped into the larger box. On the top, it said NEW INSTANT MESSAGE. Inside, it said, DRUMMERBOY8585: sarah?

Jareth's mouth fell open, which seemed to be happening to him a lot tonight. "How are you talking to Sarah?" he asked the box.

In response, the smaller box said: DRUMMERBOY8585: u there? come on sis i know ur awake

"…Toby?" Jareth asked the box. The box hummed back at him, placidly.

"Figure this out," muttered Jareth, scanning the glass in front of him. "Toby is not in the box, Toby is sending you a message through the box, which means you can send him a message back if you just find out how to – ah." Right by his hands was something resembling a squashed typewriter. He wrote, very slowly, h-e-l-l-o. Bringing his finger up to the glass, he pressed SEND.

Nothing happened.

It was several minutes before he found the round contraption that fit into his hand and coordinated his movements enough to send his message. When he did, he saw that Sarah's box was named AriadneInNYC. He smiled.

AriadneInNYC: hello

DRUMMERBOY8585: took u long enough! so mom said ur coming over tomorrow?

AriadneInNYC: did she

DRUMMERBOY8585: i can't wait til u hear my band, we're getting really good!

AriadneInNYC: i am sure you are very talented

DRUMMERBOY8585: sooooooo

DRUMMERBOY8585: mom said no more jeff? what happened?

AriadneInNYC: how do i put this

AriadneInNYC: jeff

AriadneInNYC: is a fucker

DRUMMERBOY8585: damn, ok

DRUMMERBOY8585: well – i didn't like him anyways

AriadneInNYC: why

DRUMMERBOY8585: he didn't make u happy. i could tell. u were trying. but i could tell he didn't make u feel happy

DRUMMERBOY8585: sarah? U there?

DRUMMERBOY8585: did i make u mad?

DRUMMERBOY8585: hey the next time i'll tell you what i think about ur boyfriend right away ok? i promise. don't be mad

AriadneInNYC: i am not upset with you toby

DRUMMERBOY8585: ok good. u should bring someone else tomorrow. its ur birthday u should bring someone who makes u happy

AriadneInNYC: toby what an excellent idea

AriadneInNYC: as a matter of fact i am going to take you up on your offer and bring someone tomorrow

DRUMMERBOY8585: cool do i know them?

AriadneInNYC: you have met him yes

AriadneInNYC: but that was a long time ago

AriadneInNYC: he remembers you fondly

DRUMMERBOY8585: cool

DRUMMERBOY8585: shit i gotta go moms up i should be sleeping see u tomorrow!

DRUMMERBOY8585: happy bday!

DRUMMERBOY8585 has signed off.

"Goodbye, Toby," he said to the box. "See you tomorrow."

He idly shifted through the envelopes on Sarah's desk – mostly bills, mostly unpaid – and the detritus of beauty products and small cards on the floor. He examined her spindly black shoes. He poked his head into her bathroom, which was tiny but clean. Her bedroom would have to wait until tomorrow.

Glancing out the window, he saw that it was nearly dawn. He made his way back to the loveseat, sat down, and stretched his legs out on her coffee table. He felt slightly better now about Sarah, like he had some sort of grasp on her life again, however tenuous that grasp might be.

And he was going to spend her birthday with her tomorrow.

Jareth smiled, leant back into the cushions, and waited for Sarah to open her door.

_A/N: Jareth is very hard to get right. Please let me know how you think I did. And you get bonus awesome points if you can name the artist on Sarah's walls. Here's a hint – it's something Bohemian. :P _

_Raise your hand if you are old enough to remember AOL instant messenger! ::raises hand:: _

_(And if you're not… er… should you be reading this?)_


	3. Chapter 3: The Beast

3. The Beast

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

Sarah was dreaming.

She was in a ballroom, beautifully decorated, with trails of crystals – some as small as pearls, some the size of globes – hanging from the ceiling. She was wearing a long, white dress, clingy and silky and shimmering like starlight.

She was looking for someone. She knew that. She had to find him, had to…

She pushed through the crowd, who turned and laughed at her cruelly as she squeezed by. She paid no attention to them, intent on her search, her eyes scanning the room. She had to find him. He was so close, she could feel him, the pull of him, stronger than anything she had ever known, and if she could just –

And then he was in front of her, his golden hair gleaming and falling into his impossibly beautiful face, and his eyes – he took her into his arms, and music was playing, very quietly, what was that song? she knew it from somewhere – and she looked up at him, and into his eyes, which she had thought were two different colors, at first, but now she could see that they were both blue, but one pupil was larger, bigger than the other –

"Sarah," he said.

– and she wondered why they were like that, what had happened, and –

"Sarah," he said. "It's gettin' hot in here. So take off all your clothes."

Wait. That definitely wasn't how this dream usually went. She took a step back. "What?" she asked. "Take of all my clothes?"

At least, that wasn't how the _first_ part of this dream usually went.

"I am getting so hot," he said. "I'm gonna take my clothes off."

"I'm waking up, aren't I?" she said. He nodded, and looked hopefully at her dress.

"It's gettin' hot in here," he repeated. He raised his eyebrows. "So take off all your clothes?"

She sighed. "Goodbye, Goblin King. Until the next one."

"I am getting so hot, I'm gonna take my clothes off," he told her, smiling sadly, and Sarah woke up to her radio alarm clock blaring.

"Mmmph," said Sarah, pulling her pillow over her head and trying to sink back into her dream with the Goblin King, who had been holding her, was about to sing to her until that stupid song –

The Goblin King.

Jareth, the Goblin King, who was in her living room.

"Holy shit," said Sarah, remembering, and sat up. She turned off her alarm clock. Trying to gather her thoughts, and her wits, she stood and walked towards her door. She pressed her ear against it, but heard nothing. Was he still even out there?

The wish. The wish was for a happy birthday, she mused. He came last night because of the wish. Her hand rested on the doorknob, lingering. It was still her birthday.

Last night, it wasn't until she shut her bedroom door that she realized that she hadn't gone to the bathroom to pee, or brush her teeth, or take off her makeup. Sarah had many faults that she would admit to herself, and one of them was her pride, and she refused to let herself come back out of her bedroom until morning. She didn't want to ruin her dramatic exit.

Now it was morning, and she desperately had to pee, and she probably had eyeliner smeared all over her face. Jareth had already seen her drunk. Why was she worried about making a good impression? Should she even bother looking in the mirror?

The mirror.

Her friends.

She had forgotten to ask Jareth about her friends.

"Holy shit," she said again. "I am a terrible person." She wrenched open her bedroom door.

Jareth was still on her loveseat. "I'm a terrible –" she started, then paused. "Have you been in the same spot all night?"

"No," he said, standing. "I took myself on a tour of your apartment."

"You what?" she said, confused. "That would have taken, like, two minutes." She looked at the sheets, still folded on her couch where she had left them. "Did you even sleep?"

He shook his head. "I haven't been sleeping very well, lately."

"Bad dreams?" she asked.

"Something like that," he said. "You were saying?"

"Oh," she said. "I was going to say that I was a terrible person?"

Jareth raised his eyebrows. "Even I'm not sure I would go that far, Sarah. What are you talking about?"

"I didn't ask you about my friends, last night," she said. "From the Labyrinth. Hoggle, and Ludo. Sir Didymus. They said they could come to me, when I called them, but then when I called them the next time, they didn't come."

Jareth looked at her strangely. "I'm afraid that's my fault," he said. "I gave them magic enough to come to you, that first night. It was a gift, for winning. For defeating me. I thought it would make you… happy."

Sarah had no idea what to say to that.

Jareth continued. "I could only send them the once. Their magic is tied to the Labyrinth, which, in turn, is tied to me. They do not have enough magic to come to you on their own, since you said…"

_(You have no power over me.)_

"…what you said," he finished.

"But," said Sarah. "Are they…" she trailed off, then tried again. "Are they okay?"

"I would assume that they're well. I have not spoken to them, since I saw you last."

"What?" asked Sarah. "You haven't spoken to them, in 15 years? I thought…"

"You thought?"

"I thought you would punish them," she said, quickly, "for helping me."

"Ah," said Jareth. "No. I have been…"

Sarah waited.

"Preoccupied."

"Oh," she said, and wondered what he meant by that. He didn't elaborate, and she didn't ask him to.

"Well," she said, to fill the silence. "Um. I'm sorry I didn't offer you anything to eat last night, or show you the bathroom, or –"

"I am quite capable of figuring that out for myself," he said, and began to talk towards her. "I found the frozen grapes in your icebox. You offered me wine, which I drank. You offered me a bed, although I must admit, it was not the bed I would have preferred." His gaze raked her up and down, taking in her worn blue tank top and plaid boxer shorts. "Is _this_ what you wear to sleep?" he asked her, one eyebrow raised.

Sarah was suddenly very aware that she was not wearing a bra.

"I have to pee," she blurted out, and edged past him, into her bathroom, where she shut the door and locked it.

"Oh God, Williams, you complete idiot," she muttered. "You just told the Goblin King you had to pee." She thumped her head against the door, softly. She could hear him laughing at her, in the next room. "Ugh."

She peed – _finally_ – turned on the shower, and got in.

Karen had wished for her to have a happy birthday, she rationalized, as she washed her hair. Apparently, Sarah's subconscious's idea of having a happy birthday was to spend it with the man – the creature – who had terrified her and stolen her brother when she was a teenager. The Goblin King. The dangerous, villainous, predatory…

She thought of his hungry gaze on her body.

…_sexy_ Goblin King.

She had a strange feeling, almost like a sense of déjà vu. She felt like she did when she had once fallen down a flight of stairs in her freshman dorm, when she was in college. For a brief moment, as she realized what was happening, she had thought to herself, very distinctly, I know where this is going. I am falling, and this is going to hurt.

You know where this is going, she told herself, as she tried not to pay attention to the fact that she was now shaving her legs, above the knee.

Just don't fall this time, she told herself, as she tried not to pay attention to the fact that she was now shaving her bikini line. Just don't fall this time, and you won't get hurt.

She shut the water off, and lingered in the bathroom for much longer than necessary, moisturizing, blowdrying her hair, plucking her eyebrows, and putting on makeup.

Only a little bit of makeup.

Gathering her courage, and pulling her towel around her, she opened the door, hoping to scurry into her bedroom with minimal Goblin King contact, so she could get dressed – and put a bra on, for Christ's sake, anything to level the playing field again.

No such luck. "Ah," he said. Now he was actually sitting _on_ her coffee table. "I thought you had fallen in. Now, Sarah, you said, last night, that you would talk to me in the morning." He patted her sofa, his eyes on her towel, then traveling up to her face. "Come. Talk to me."

Putting her hand up, palm out as if to ward him away from her, she sputtered out, "Clothes!" and disappeared back into her bedroom. She put on her bra and underwear – she tried not to pay attention to the fact that they were some of her nicest underwear, and black, and lacy, and that they matched – and a sundress that she liked, which was covered in tiny blue flowers and emphasized her small waist. She looked out the window. Karen had been right – the weather was gorgeous today.

Shit, she thought. Karen. She glanced at her clock. She had less than a half an hour before she had to be on the road.

She opened her bedroom door again. Jareth was not in her living room, but she found him sitting on her kitchen counter, inspecting her blender.

"What is this?" he asked her. He held it out to her, upside down.

"It's a blender," she said. "For making smoothies. Do you drink coffee?" She pulled the grounds from her fridge.

"Do you have tea?" He put the blender back.

"Just chamomile," she said.

He made a face. "Coffee, then. Thank you." Out of the corner of her eye, she could sense him watching her as she made the coffee, spooning the grounds in. Swinging his foot, he tapped the heel of his boot steadily against her cupboard door.

"This all feels very… strange," she said.

He laughed. "Do you think? I was just thinking that it felt quite nice."

Nice? Maybe it did feel nice. She smiled. She pulled two mugs from her cabinet, and asked, "How do you take your coffee?"

"However you take yours is fine."

When it was brewed, she poured, spooned three sugars in each, and pushed the mug along the counter to him. His mug was blue, and had a penguin on it. Hers had a pink cow. Leaning back against her counter, she sipped her coffee and watched him inspect his. "_Three_ sugars?" he muttered.

"Listen, Jareth," she started. He looked up at her. Even though he had said he hadn't slept, he seemed like he looked better, less tired than last night. He seemed to be in a better mood, too. What had upset him so much, last night? She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"I don't know what – I thought – you thought – I mean, for my birthday –" The words were not coming out how she wanted them to. "Um. I mean, I have to leave soon. I'm going –"

"To see your family. I know."

" – to see my family, and – wait, what? How did you know?"

"I spoke to Toby last night. On your box."

"What the fuck?" Sarah put her coffee down on the counter. "On my _box_? Do you mean my computer? Oh, Jesus… what the fuck did you say, Jareth?" She made her way quickly to her desk.

"Relax, Sarah," he called to her from the kitchen. "Nothing he didn't already know, I promise you." Sarah read their conversation, and her anger at the Goblin King faded to mild irritation as she read what Toby had written. She glanced at the shoebox, full of Jeff's books, that she had left on her table. "Oh, Toby," she said, quietly. "It's your birthday," she read. "You should bring someone who makes you happy." She hadn't thought of Jeff since last night, since right before the Goblin King turned up in her living room.

She walked back to the kitchen and finished her coffee, staring at Jareth as she drank steadily, thinking. She put the mug down.

Fuck it.

"I hope you like road trips," she said to him, "because even assuming there's no traffic, we're still going to be in the car for three hours."

He grinned at her.

As Jareth finished his coffee, she microwaved two bagels ("Do you like bagels?" "I have no idea. What's a bagel?" "They're good, you'll like them."), threw her things – and the bagels – in her purse, and put on a pair of sandals. Pulling open the door to her closet for her coat, she looked at him. "Oh God," she said, realizing. "Your clothes. You can't go like that."

"Like what?" he asked, looking down at his white, float-y shirt, pale brown leggings, and knee-high boots. "Do you want me to change?"

"Your clothes," Sarah said. "Just your clothes. And maybe… your hair? And your eyebrows?"

He narrowed his eyes at her.

"It's just… they're not very… human? And, um, my family…"

He twisted his wrist, and Sarah watched, entranced, as he circled a pale blue crystal around his fingers, weaving it through, under and above his hand.

It had been a very long time since she'd seen one of those.

When she tore her gaze away from the crystal, he had changed.

His hair was shorter, still falling into his eyes in the front, but cut close to his head everywhere else. His eyebrows had straightened, making his face lose some of that sharp, otherworldly look that made him so beautiful.

Instead, he was just incredibly, impossibly attractive.

He was wearing dark jeans, black boots, and a black T-shirt. Simple. Easy. He was holding a black leather jacket.

He was not wearing gloves.

"Good," she said. "Um." She pulled her own jacket out of the closet. It was also black leather, and matched his.

He grinned. His teeth were still pointy.

Oh well, thought Sarah. If anyone asks, I'll just say he's English.

"Shall we?" she said, and then remembered the box. "Oh, shit. Wait. Hold on. Just let me…" Taking a breath, and turning away from Jareth, she picked up the phone on the table, and dialed.

"Hello?"

"I'm leaving the last of your stuff here. I'll be gone all day."

"Sarah, I –"

"Drop your key in the mailbox when you leave."

"Sarah, please –"

"I don't want to hear it."

"Sarah, just listen –"

"No, you listen. Go fuck yourself." She hung up. She glanced at Jareth, but his expression was neutral. She walked towards the door, and he followed. The phone rang.

"Leave it," Sarah said, when Jareth paused. "Just forget it. It doesn't matter." They walked over her threshold, and Sarah triple-locked the door behind them. They headed downstairs, the ringing phone fading away. They stepped out of her building and into the sunshine.

They turned left, and walked up the street in silence, until Jareth said, "On that box, what you wrote – "

"I said forget it," she told him. "I don't want to talk about it. It's a long story."

They passed a vacant lot, filled with children playing some sort of haphazard version of kickball. Jareth's voice was gentle as he said, "I am very old, Sarah, and in my life I am sure I've heard much longer stories."

She did not want to think about Jeff anymore today. She thought about what Jareth had just said, instead. "Jareth… just how old are you?"

"An answer for an answer," he said. "If I tell you, I will ask you something next. Does that seem fair, to you?"

She nodded, amused that Jareth the Goblin King was asking her whether something seemed fair.

"I am more than four thousand years old," he said. "Closer to five."

"Jesus Christ," said Sarah. Thirty suddenly did not seem so daunting.

Jareth laughed. "Yes," he said. "Older than him, too. Now, my turn."

Sarah waited, walking along slowly.

"Where are we, and where are we going?"

"That's two questions!" Sarah protested. "I can't believe you're cheating already!" Jareth raised his eyebrows at her. Well, she thought, they were easy ones. She gestured outwards, dramatically, as they continued walking. "We are in the great state of New York, and in the great city of New York. Or, more specifically, we are in the neighborhood of Astoria, in the borough of Queens." She pointed ahead of them, to an overpass about a block away. "And we are heading up there, to the Grand Central Parkway, which my car is parked underneath. And then we'll drive north for approximately three hours, to see my family."

"Sarah Williams," mused Jareth, "of the kingdom of A Story, in Queens."

"Something like that," she said.

"I have been to New York City several times before," said Jareth, "but it looked quite different."

"Really?" asked Sarah, curiously. "When were you in New York?"

"The last time was in the early 1970s, I believe," he said. Sarah briefly pictured Jareth, surrounded by girls wearing hotpants and rollerskates in Studio 54. "Now," he said. "My turn."

"But I didn't – " she began, and then realized that yes, she had asked a question. Her mouth snapped shut. Not fair.

"Your family. Do you get on better with them, now?"

Sarah studied him. He was looking at the sidewalk, the cars, the street, the buildings they were passing – anywhere but at her. "How much do you know about me, exactly?"

"Ah ah, Sarah," said Jareth. "Answers, first."

"Fine," she said. "Yes, I do. I had… issues, I guess. With my father remarrying. Teenage hormones, maybe. But then, after…" she paused. "Well, you know. You. Things were different. I was different. It was like, my way of looking at everything changed, once I almost lost Toby. I could see that things weren't always what they seemed, or how I had assumed them to be…" she trailed off, thinking. "You know, Karen was the age I am now when she married my dad? I can't imagine having to deal with a bitchy teenage stepdaughter like me." She laughed. "Anyway. Does that answer your question?"

"Partly," said Jareth. "Your mother?"

"We don't really talk," said Sarah. "She lives nearby, in Manhattan, but we hardly ever see each other. It's… awkward. She never knew what to do with me." She paused at the crosswalk, pulling Jareth back by the elbow as he almost stepped out into oncoming traffic. "Um," she said, when he looked down at her hand on his arm. "Sorry." She moved her hand away.

"Not at all," he said. "Thank you." The light changed, and they crossed. As they walked to her car, she said, "And my question?" She walked around to the driver's side, searching in her purse for her keys. Jareth followed her.

"I don't know the answer to your question, I'm afraid," he said. "You are very much changed from the Sarah I thought I knew."

She looked at him, trying to picture herself from his perspective. He smiled at her, but his eyes were sad. He leaned closer, studying her face. "Sarah?" he asked, softly, tentatively.

"Yes?" Oh God, she thought, he's going to kiss me. He's going to kiss me under the overpass. Her eyes fluttered closed, her face turning up towards his voice.

"Please…" he said, "Please don't tell me that this is your car. Is it?"

She stepped back from him. "What?"

He smirked. "This is the most revolting mode of transportation I have ever seen in my life, and I once spent a fortnight riding a mule with no teeth and digestive problems."

Jesus fucking Christ.

"There is nothing _revolting_ about my car," she ground out. "It is just a little _old_. Unlike some… _things_ that are very, very old, my car has always treated me well." She felt like kicking him. "Get in," she snapped. He walked around to the passenger side, and looked through the window of her car – a Honda Civic, circa 1988, that had once been white, but was now rusting toward red and strategically duct-taped – warily. "How?" he asked, pawing at the handle.

"Have you ever even _been_ in a car?"

"Of course I've been in a car," he retorted, but then under his breath, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously to Sarah like "Edinburgh" and "1919." She snorted, and opened her door and climbed in. Jareth, having figured out the handle, followed. "You should put your seatbelt on, Goblin King," she said. "Driving has changed a little since 1919."

It took a few tries to start. "C'mon, Beast," she muttered, waiting to hear the engine kick over.

"Beast?" asked Jareth, fighting with his seatbelt. The car started.

"That's its name," she said. "The Beast. Technically, it's The Beast that Won't Die. It was totaled, twice, and it's still going." She pulled away out of her parking spot a little faster than she probably should have, and was rewarded with a vision of Jareth clinging to the edge of the seat out of the corner of her eye.

"Whose turn is it to ask a question?" asked Sarah.

"Mine," said Jareth. "Well, it was yours, but then you asked that."

"Jerk," Sarah muttered, still stinging from the crack about her car, and the fact that he had made him think he was going to kiss her, and didn't. Although, she thought, it probably served her right for what she did to him last night. That karma. What a bitch.

"You have a career?" Jareth asked.

Sarah nodded.

"Continue then, Sarah."

She scowled. "I work in PR."

"I don't know where that is."

"No," she said. "It's not a place, it's an industry. It stands for public relations."

"Which means…" Jareth prompted.

How could she explain PR to someone who was nearly 5,000 years old? "It's… people come to us, who want to promote things. Like me, for instance – I work with bars and restaurants in the city. So people come to me and the company I work for to tell everyone else to go to their bar or restaurant, when it opens. And after. So we tell people how good it is, so everyone will go."

"And if it's not good?" asked Jareth.

"Well… then, we try to make it sound as good as we can."

"So you lie."

"Well, no," said Sarah. "Not really. It's not a lie… it's like… it's like, a twist on the truth."

"Ah," he said. "Sarah the tale spinner. Sarah the storyteller. Tell me, do you enjoy it?"

"I used to," she said. "But I've been doing it for a long time. It's exhausting. I've been at the same company for five years. I've been thinking of quitting, but… I'm not sure what else I'd do."

"And here I'd been thinking, all these years, that you wanted to be an actress." On the entrance ramp now, Sarah sped up to merge. She glanced at Jareth – his grip on his seat had lessened, a bit – wondering again how much he knew about her, and how he knew that much about her, and why.

"I did want to be an actress," she said. "And I tried. But I wasn't very good, and I got tired of my auditions always ending with the directors telling me that to get the part, all I needed to do was suck their dicks. So," she said, "I stopped auditioning. And now you owe me three questions."

Sarah was trying to keep her eyes on the road – driving through Queens usually required all her concentration – but she could sense Jareth staring at her. Finally, he said, "Clever girl. You were counting. Go ahead. Ask."

"How do you know so much about me – or the 15-year-old me, anyway?"

"I watched you," Jareth said, his voice casual. "I watched you to find out who you were, what you liked and disliked. What you desired, and who you wanted to become."

"That's… really creepy," said Sarah.

Jareth scoffed. "I didn't watch you while you dressed, or bathed. Give me some credit, Sarah. And I haven't watched you… since you left."

"Why?" asked Sarah.

_(You have no power over me.)_

"Why did you watch me in the first place, I mean?"

It was a long time, perhaps a minute, before he answered. Sarah kept her eyes on the road. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet, she had to strain to hear him.

"Sarah," he said. "I promise that I will answer your question. I swear it. But, like yours, it is a very, very long story, and I am not sure I should tell it to you now." He paused. "I will tell you, though, at some point. I give you my word."

"Um," she said, eloquently. "Um, okay. I guess."

Jareth said, his voice back to normal, "Thank you."

Sarah, for the life of her, could not think of what to say. They were crossing the bridge to the Bronx now. She tapped her window. "Jareth. Look."

Across the Flushing Bay, the skyline of Manhattan stretched out alongside them. The skyscrapers, from the apartment buildings full of millionaires on the Upper West Side, to the Chrysler Building and the Empire State Building, to the World Trade Center crowning the Financial District, were sparkling in the bright morning sunlight.

Jareth moved his body closer to her window, closer to Sarah, to look. "Ah," he said, admiringly. "Your city. It is beautiful."

Sarah nodded.

"Your kingdom as great," he acknowledged, settling back into his seat. She felt the loss of his warmth keenly as he moved away from her.

"My kingdom as great," she agreed.

"You have one more question," Jareth told her, after they paid the toll.

Sarah could not think of what to ask. "Would you like to listen to the radio?" she said, and reached over to turn it on without waiting for her answer.

They passed the rest of the trip pleasantly, listening to music. They ate their bagels, which Jareth liked, just as she said he would. She had the radio on a top 40 station, and Jareth seemed intrigued by rap music ("It's one of the things you missed over the last 15 years," she told him, "along with the Clinton administration, the end of the Cold War, and all of the 1990s.") but after a while he requested something else, saying that he was getting a headache. She laughed at him ("God, you _are_ old!") and turned the radio to classic rock instead.

He liked this much better. The deejay kept breaking in between songs to announce that they were holding a "threefer" ("Be the third caller after three songs in a row by the same artist and you will win, win, win three hundred dollars!" he boomed.) and to tease the audience, it seemed, he often played two songs, one right after the other, by the same band or singer.

By the ends of the songs, Jareth was often humming the melody, or singing along to the chorus. Sarah joined him, after a few had played – she had a decent voice, and she wasn't embarrassed to sing in front of people, even Goblin Kings – and she couldn't help but grin as he looked at her in pleasant surprise when she started to sing.

He liked the Rolling Stones, and Queen. He was delighted by the Talking Heads, and listened so intently to White Rabbit by Jefferson Airplane that she thought he was going to magically bust out a pen and paper and start taking notes. He was, much to Sarah's amusement, not entirely impressed with the Beatles, and dismissed Black Sabbath entirely as "absolute rubbish."

When Sarah heard the opening to the next song, which had always, for some reason, reminded her of the intro to the VH1 show Pop-Up Video, and made her think of bubbles, she said, "Oh."

"Oh, what?" asked Jareth. "You don't like this song?"

"No," she said. "It's not that. I do. It's just… this singer? He always…"

"Yes?" Jareth prompted.

"He reminds me of you," she said, quickly. "He even looks like you, a little bit."

"Hmm," said Jareth. He leaned back in the seat. "Looks like me, does he? Incredibly handsome? And what of him reminds you of me? His irresistible charm? His unbelievable, effortless sex appeal?"

"His complete and total modesty," Sarah said, drily, tightening her fingers on the steering wheel. Jareth laughed, and Sarah listened as David Bowie told her that he would stay with her for a thousand years, that nothing was going to touch her in her golden years.

She wondered if he had written this song for a woman who was younger than thirty.

"It's a good song," said Jareth, as Bowie advised her to run to the shadows.

_Wish upon wish upon day upon day I believe oh lord I believe all the way…_

It was a good song. She agreed.

When the next song was also another good song, another David Bowie song, Sarah wasn't surprised. She had always liked this one, too, and she hummed along to the wandering melody as it wove in and out.

"Is this your singer, again?" asked Jareth.

"He's not _my_ anything," she told him. "But yeah, it's the same guy."

Jareth listened. "Why is he singing about dolphins?" he asked, disdainfully.

"Shush," she ordered. "Listen. You'll like it."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Are you telling me what to do?" he asked, but quieted down when she started singing softly. That he would be king, and she would be queen, and that they could be heroes – that they could be themselves –

_Just for one day…_

It ended, and Jareth was quiet, staring out the window at the passing trees. She wondered what he was thinking about.

The next song started. It was Modern Love.

"There you go," said Sarah. "David Bowie's just won someone three hundred dollars."

They listened in silence until the end of the first chorus, when Jareth said, "He's a bachelor, your singer?"

"He's not _mine_," she said. "I told you. And no, he's married. For a long time, now."

"Then why," said Jareth, "is he singing that he doesn't believe in love?"

She glanced at him. He looked serious. "It's just a song, Jareth."

He shook his head. "You should always say what you mean," he said. "Especially in a song."

"Well…" said Sarah. "It's an old song. Maybe he meant it a long time ago, before he met his wife."

Jareth shook his head again. "No," he insisted. "It doesn't matter how long ago it was. The song should still be true. Songs should always be true, Sarah. _Especially_ songs about love."

"Jareth…" she started to say. Then she stopped. She wasn't really sure, to be honest, what song he was referring to, anymore.

_Never gonna fall for modern love… _

_(There's such a sad love, deep in your eyes…)_

"What does his wife think, I wonder, when he performs this song?"

"How am I supposed to know what his wife thinks?" she asked. "She's one of the most beautiful women in the world. The two of them are probably too busy rolling around in piles of money to care about song lyrics from decades ago."

"No? Maybe it's about her, and she knows, but won't admit it. Maybe it's about her, and she won't realize it, won't understand that it's true." His voice had changed, and grown bitter.

_Walks beside me… walks on by… _

_(There's such a fooled heart, beating so fast…)_

"Jareth… what are you talking about?"

"You know very well what I'm talking about," he said to her, his voice rising. He turned, faced her.

_Never gonna fall for…_

_(Falling, falling… falling in love…) _

"No, I don't! You're not making any sense!" she cried. The two songs dueled, dancing with each other, on the radio and in her mind. "Why are you being so weird, Jareth?"

"Why are you being so stupid, Sarah?" he hissed at her, cruelly.

"You know something?" she said, her voice shaking, overwhelmed with anger, and another emotion she didn't want to name. "Sometimes I really _hate_ –"

"Say it," he said. "Say it. Make it true."

_(I'll be there for you, as the world falls down…)_

She stopped. The song on the radio kept playing, faster and faster. She jabbed at the buttons. It went quiet. "Sometimes I really hate saxophones," she said, keeping her voice steady, and her eyes straight ahead.

After a few seconds, Jareth turned away from her. Sarah kept driving. She had no idea what had just happened.

Neither of them spoke. After about 20 minutes, Sarah put her signal on, and changed lanes to exit. "We're almost there," she said, casually. "Another ten minutes." They passed through the town in silence, until Jareth said, "Sarah, I – "

"Here we are," she interrupted him. She turned the car, and pulled into a long driveway. "Home at last."

_A/N: Boy, Jareth can be a real jerk sometimes, you know? Any guesses as to Sarah's unnamed emotion at the end there? I decided to leave it vague, because there are a few that would fit, and I'm not sure even she knows which one it is. I'd love to hear what you think!_

_And apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Jones for dragging them into this. But it makes me laugh to picture them rolling around in giant piles of money. _

_Also, as you can tell from the New York City skyline, this story takes place at a certain time. Specifically, April of 2001. After I'd written this, I realized that the song that Jareth is, er, "singing" in Sarah's dream wasn't released until 2002. But I kept it in, because it made me laugh, too. Suspend your disbelief, please, in this story about an ordinary girl and her Goblin King._


	4. Chapter 4: The Brother

4. The Brother

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

"Here we are," said Sarah. "Home at last." She turned the key, and the engine faded.

He tried again. "Sarah – "

"I don't want to hear it."

He realized with dismay that she had said the same thing earlier this morning, to the man who had hurt her.

What was he thinking? Why was he being cruel to her, when he had the chance again to win her again? Why could he not keep his temper? Why couldn't he control himself around her?

What was _wrong_ with him? Why couldn't he ever get it right?

"Sarah, please, listen – "

She turned to him, eyes flashing. "No," she said. "_You_ listen. I was just a girl! You stole my brother!"

He couldn't help himself. "You _gave _him to me."

"I didn't know what I was saying. I didn't know what _you_ were saying. I didn't understand what you were offering! I was a _child_."

A child? Was that how she saw herself? Was that what she thought?

She had turned out to be the most formidable opponent he had ever faced! She had completely, and effortlessly, and ruthlessly destroyed him. He couldn't let her do it again. He couldn't take it another time.

Turning away, she opened the door and got out of the car. He tried to go after her, but couldn't. He cursed at the stupid harness. After fighting with it for a moment, Jareth followed her. He felt as if he would never stop, could never stop chasing her, trying to call her back to him.

"Please," he said again. "Sarah." He walked around the car towards her. She stood, facing him, her hands on her hips. "Forgive me," he said. "Please. When I am around you… I seem to lose control of myself."

Her face remained expressionless. Her eyes were so beautiful, and so cruel.

He wanted to fall to his knees, to cling to her legs and kiss her feet, and beg her to forgive him everything.

He wanted to push her against that disgusting car, to tangle his hands in her hair and kiss her roughly, and make her forgive him everything.

He settled for a compromise, and took her hand.

In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea. He had forgotten that he wasn't wearing gloves.

Had he ever touched her, with his bare hands, before? He must not have, he would have remembered. Her skin was so soft. Like silk. Almost immediately, his control slipped further, and he felt a jolt as a thread of his magic began leaking, twisting out of him, pouring from his wrist, twining around his palm and trickling from his fingers into hers. She gasped. Holding her small, pale hand in his, he brushed his fingers across the soft mound of skin below her thumb.

"See?" he asked her, stroking her hand. "Do you see? I lose myself, around you." He looked up at her, and she was staring at him, her beautiful eyes wide, her expression full of confusion, and fear, and wonder. His magic pulsed, and he felt the thread between them grow thicker.

Especially when you look at me like that, he thought.

"Jareth," she breathed.

Especially when you say my name.

"SARAH!" bellowed a voice from above them. Sarah jerked away, and he felt the thread of his magic snap, cleanly, as if it had been cut. She cradled her hand with the other, like his touch had burned her. He pulled himself together, stemmed the flow.

"Will you forgive me," he asked, "please?"

"All right," she said, slowly. "I forgive you, this time. But only because you asked." She gave him a cautious smile, but it felt like sunlight.

"SARAH!" called the voice again. They both looked up.

A boy with shaggy blond hair was hanging half out of a window on the second floor. As they watched, he pulled himself out of the window and began to edge along the roof, towards the tall tree at the side of the house.

"Toby!" shouted Sarah. "For Christ's sake! Come down the stairs _inside_ the house, like a normal person!"

So this was Toby, thought Jareth, as Toby laughed. Reaching the tree, he began to clamber down it. Clearly, he liked to make an entrance.

Jareth could relate.

"If you fall and die," Sarah called, "I swear to God I will fucking kill you!"

"Toby!" cried another, higher voice, from the same window. A thin girl with hair down to her shoulders – also blonde – was now hanging out of it. She saw the two of them, on the ground. "Hi!" she called out to them. "Be right down." She retreated from the window, back into the house.

Toby, jumping to the ground, began crossing the lawn to them, at a jog. He approached, and caught Sarah in an enormous embrace, picking her up and swinging her around. She squealed in protest, and he put her down. She shoved him, affectionately. "Good to see you, big sister," he said, in a surprisingly deep voice. He looked over at Jareth. "Hey," he said. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Toby."

Jareth took it, and shook. He had a firm, strong handshake.

"Toby," said Sarah. "This is my… friend. Ja – "

"Jay," interrupted Jareth. "Call me Jay. It's good to see you again, Toby. You wouldn't remember me, I suppose." For a second, something flashed in Toby's eyes, and then it was gone.

The blonde girl pulled open the front door. "Come in," said Toby. They headed to the porch steps. "Mom and dad went to the supermarket. They'll be back a little later. Chris and Eric are gonna show up any minute, too. I can't wait to show you my new set! It's around back, in the garage. You can put your stuff down in the kitchen. It's just down the hall."

"I know," said Sarah, amused. "I used to live here too, if you recall."

"Yeah," Toby retorted. "Like, a million years ago." Sarah rolled her eyes.

As they crossed into the house, Sarah gave the blonde girl a quick hug. "Hey, Katie," she said. She turned to Jareth. "This is Toby's girlfriend, Katie. Katie, this is…"

"Jay," said Jareth, again. He took her hand in his. "Pleasure." His magic was controlled, contained, his touch normal. He noticed the girl's shirt was buttoned incorrectly.

She pulled her hand away. "Ummm…" said Katie. "Hi." She looked terrified. "I'm just… gonna…" she gestured in the direction Toby was heading.

"Katie," Sarah said. "Wait." She whispered something in her ear. Katie squeaked, looked down at her shirt, and raced down the hall.

"Ugh. Teenagers. I don't know whether to laugh or throw up," said Sarah as they followed her, slowly. Jareth laughed. He looked around the house as they walked.

"Sarah," he asked her. "Do you still have your dog?"

"Merlin? No. He died, years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good dog."

She looked at him, oddly. "Yeah. He was a good dog. But he was old, and dogs don't live very long. But he had a good life." She paused. "So. Are you going to tell me about this Jay business?"

"Ah," said Jareth. "Yes, that's very important. I should have said something earlier. You must never tell anyone my name."

"Anyone?" asked Sarah. "Ever?"

"Anyone," he said. "Ever. Names have power, Sarah, especially mine. You, of course, have earned the right to call me by my name, but in front of others, I would much appreciate it if you referred to me as Jay, instead."

"All right," said Sarah.

Jareth stopped. "Swear it," he said, his voice serious.

"I swear," she said. "I promise."

He nodded, and they continued walking through the house. He glanced up at the staircase as they passed it, to Sarah's old bedroom. He wondered if it looked the same, if it still held all those books, and toys. If she had kept that red book. That tiny little figurine.

They headed through a neat, bright kitchen, and Sarah dropped her enormous handbag on the table before moving through to another door to the back, and the garden behind the house. Jareth followed.

Toby, true to his word, had set up a drumset in the garage, which contained no cars but was surrounded by boxes, wires, and a few other instruments. Jareth had seen a full drumset before, but had never inspected one up close. He moved in for a look. "May I?" he asked. Toby nodded, and Jareth ran his hands along the cymbal, then the snare. He pressed the pedal for the bass drum, which gave a resounding thump. It seemed like good quality. "Impressive," he said. Toby beamed. "I saved for months," he told Jareth, proudly.

At that moment, Jareth heard a sharp slam – a car door – and they all looked out, towards the house. "Williams!" shouted a young man's voice. "Horowitz fucking bailed on us!" The owner of the voice, a stocky boy with dark, short hair, came around the side of the house. "We've lost our fucking guitarist!" He saw them, his gaze catching on Jareth, and Sarah, and he stopped short.

"What! Why?" asked Katie, who had perched herself atop a large, dark blue box with several cords trailing out the front of it.

"Hey, Sarah," said the dark-haired boy in a low, smooth voice, ignoring Katie, and Toby, and Jareth completely.

"Hello, Chris," said Sarah, amused. Jareth looked back and forth between the two of them. Ah, he thought. A crush. How sweet.

"Chris!" called Toby.

"How're you doing?" Chris said to Sarah, walking towards her in a way that he seemed to think was seductive. "I didn't know you were… coming over."

"It's my birthday," said Sarah, still sounding like she was trying not to laugh. "I can't imagine why Toby didn't tell you."

"Chris!" Toby called. "Really – where the fuck is Eric?"

"I know you're like, even way more older than me now," Chris said to Sarah. "But you are like… seriously smoking hot." Jareth contemplated putting the boy's head through Toby's new bass drum.

"Wow," Sarah said, drily. "Thanks for that… compliment."

"Chris!" Toby said again, his voice strained. "Seriously, dude. Where. Is. Eric. You were supposed to pick him up! We need to practice!"

Chris looked over to Toby, annoyed. "It's his little brother's bar mitzvah next weekend, and he has to take like, family photos today, or something. He fucking forgot about it, called me to tell me this morning. He said he'll ride his bike over when he's done."

"When is that going to be?" asked Toby, exasperated.

"Dunno," Chris said. "Didn't say."

"Ugh," said Toby, collapsing onto his stool behind the drumset. "We're auditioning to be in a battle of the bands, at school," he told Sarah. "Auditions are on Tuesday night. We are so… fucked."

"Toby, don't say that," said Katie. "You'll do great! You guys are amazing!"

"Ugh," said Toby again. He thumped the bass drum several times.

"You need a guitarist?" Jareth asked Toby.

"Yeah," he said. His eyes lit up. "Do you play? Would you help us out? We're doing a Bowie song. We need to run through it a few more times." He heard Sarah mutter something, under her breath.

"I do play," Jareth said.

"Since when?" asked Sarah, in disbelief.

Since the 17th century, Jareth thought, but said instead, casually, "Oh, for years now."

"You kind of look like him, a little bit," said Toby, studying Jareth's face. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"I didn't know you played guitar," said Sarah.

"Yes," he said to Toby. "I have been told that." To Sarah, in a low voice, he said, "There are many things you don't know about me, Sarah." She blushed. So beautiful, he thought.

"Uh, excuse me," said Chris, looking at Jareth. "Would you mind telling me who the fuck you are?"

Jareth drew himself up to his full height, and looked down on him. He wished, very much, that he could tell this sniveling little… child, exactly who, the fuck, he was. Instead, he said, trying to keep the sneer from his voice, "Jay. I'm Sarah's – "

At the same time, Sarah said, "He's my – "

They both paused. To Chris, Jareth said, "You heard her. I am hers." He flashed his teeth at him, in what he hoped could pass for a smile.

"Jay," said Sarah. "This is Toby's friend, Chris Mancini." Chris jerked his head upwards in a strange, sharp nod.

Toby had pulled a cherry red guitar from a hook on the wall, and he handed it to Jareth. "Do you know the song Suffragette City?" he asked. "Eric keeps this here. He has a few. He won't mind if you play it. It should be in tune."

The guitar was electric – like Toby's drumset, he had seen one before, but never up close. He ran his hands along the neck, pulled a plectrum from between the strings, and strummed. The high E was flat, but other than that, it was in tune. He adjusted it. Hmm.

"Maybe…" said Sarah, watching Jareth inspect the guitar, "if you guys have it on CD, you could play it for him? You know, so he can…"

"Learn it?" scoffed Chris.

"…re-familiarize himself with it," said Sarah, frowning.

"I got it," called Katie. She moved towards the counter at the far side of the garage, and began fiddling with a small, rounded red box. After a few seconds, music began playing. "I put it on repeat," she said.

It was an upbeat, catchy song. The chords seemed simple enough, although he couldn't quite catch the words. Toby unraveled a cord from the blue box that Katie had been sitting on earlier, and, crouching down, plugged it in to a hole in the bottom of the red guitar. "There," he said. "All set." He grinned up at him, and Jareth found himself smiling back. "Chris plays bass and sings, so you don't have to worry about that. I have a mic on my set, so I can do the backup vocals. Don't worry about the solo, either, if you don't want to. Eric has that down. You can just play rhythm over it instead, to keep us on track. That would still be a big help."

"I can do the solo," said Jareth.

"Awesome. Take your time. I'm gonna go get a drink." He stood. "Anyone want anything?"

"Beer," said Chris.

"I'll get you a Coke, dickhead," said Toby. "C'mon, Katie." The two of them headed towards the back door, to the kitchen.

Jareth listened to the song, testing and finding the chords. It felt strangely easier to play than the guitars he owned, the neck thinner, the notes easier to reach. He played along. An A there, an F there. A G. A C? No, too sharp. B.

Sarah was watching him. "Look at that," she said. "You can play."

"I would never lie to you," he told her. He felt like laughing. "Surely you know that by now?"

"I'm starting to," she said. Walking over to the large blue box, she took up the spot that Katie had vacated. She watched Jareth play, testing out the guitar solo.

"So, Sarah," said Chris. "How's New York?"

"It's fine," she said, still not taking her eyes off Jareth.

"Do you go to like, clubs, and stuff? I heard there's this really cool one, in a church."

"Limelight? Yeah, I've been there. It's okay." Her eyes were still on Jareth's hands.

"You know, I was like, thinking – maybe I could like, go down there, and we –"

"You need a piano," interrupted Jareth. "For the song. It has a piano in it."

Chris shot him an irritated look. "Well, we don't have one. Why, can you play that, too?" he sneered.

"I can," said Jareth. "Although not, I'm afraid, at the same time as the guitar." Sarah laughed.

The song started again, and Jareth tried to pay more attention to the lyrics, strumming along softly. Sarah was still watching him. Chris, sulking, picked up his bass from where it was leaning against the wall and started to tune it, loudly. And badly.

Toby and Katie were walking back to them. Katie was giggling, and their hands were empty. "Where the fuck's my soda?" asked Chris.

"What?" said Toby. "Oh, shit. Sorry. Uhh…"

"Ah, fuck you guys," Chris said. "Come on, let's play." To Jareth, he said, "You learned it yet?" He touched the red box, and the song stopped.

"Yes," said Jareth. He smiled. "Let's play," he echoed.

Toby moved behind the drums, and counted them off. Jareth launched them into the song, listening to Toby's steady beat. He was a talented drummer, he thought.

Chris, for all his sniveling, had a good voice, but it wasn't as strong as the man on the recording. Jareth thought he could do a better job, but he still wasn't too sure of the words. And he didn't want to upset Toby. Chris looked at Jareth as he played, his eyes wide with surprise.

Behind the noise of the instruments, he heard Sarah laugh in delight. He watched as she leapt off the box, and, pulling Katie along with her, crossed the grass. She began twirling the young girl around, dancing them to the music.

Chris missed a few notes, more concerned with posturing and preening, showing off for Sarah, than playing. Jareth hit the low E harder, keeping time with Toby when he could. He let the song move him along as Chris sang and played, a half beat behind. Jareth gritted his teeth, annoyed. What kind of musician was he, if he couldn't even keep his bass guitar at pace with the drums? That was the whole point of the bass drum, surely?

He moved closer to Chris and the microphone, keeping an eye on Sarah as she danced. She looked beautiful, her long dark hair swaying around her face when she smiled, twirling herself and Katie along to the music, laughing.

Jareth looked between the two girls, remembering Sarah as she had been when she was Katie's age. Katie seemed so young in comparison to Sarah now, so incomplete.

And Sarah, then, seemed so young in comparison to Sarah now, and so incomplete.

He wondered how he thought he could have known her, really known her, before. She seemed so much more, now.

Chris was still off beat, slightly. Maybe he should sing, he thought. He could recall some of the words. He knew what a suffragette was, but wondered what a suffragette city meant. A city full of women? Years ago, that thought would have thrilled him. But now… he caught Sarah's eye, and she smiled at him, her green eyes shining. He moved closer to the microphone, and sang.

_There's only room for one and here she comes here she comes…_

Now, forever… for him, there was only Sarah.

He sang along, backing Chris and getting him back on beat. Chris looked at him, grateful. He let the music pour out of him, through the instrument and his voice. He had missed this, missed performing, missed singing, missed music, missed the happiness that he was now feeling, magnified a hundredfold whenever Sarah glanced his way.

The song ended. Jareth wanted to play it again.

"Holy shit," said Chris. "Dude, that was awesome. You fucking rock!"

"Thank you," said Jareth, politely.

A new voice interrupted them. "Who the fuck is _this_?" asked a short, skinny boy with glasses, gesturing at Jareth. He was wearing a wrinkled suit. He leant his bicycle against the side of the garage, panting slightly.

"New guitarist," said Chris. "Horowitz, you're fired."

The boy, Horowitz, said nothing, but continued to stare at Jareth with a combination of what he took to be amazement and dismay.

Chris, noticing Horowitz's lack of reaction, took it a step further. "Horowitz, can you hear me? I said, you're fired. Also, I fucked your mom." Toby added a helpful drumroll for emphasis.

Horowitz still said nothing, but kept staring at Jareth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jareth saw Sarah approaching. Rolling her eyes in Chris's direction, she made her way towards the boy by the bike. "Hey, Eric. Don't worry, that's just Jay." Smiling, she glanced at Jareth, then back to the boy. "He's with me."

Jareth tried very hard not to crow with delight at her last three words. Chris scowled.

To the boys, Sarah said, "You guys are gonna be great on Tuesday. You'll get in, I know it." To Jareth, she said, "That was… really…" she trailed off, her voice quieting.

Shaking his head as if coming out of a dream, Eric tore his eyes away from Jareth and turned and noticed Sarah. "Sarah – hey! I didn't see you. Hey, happy birthday!" He reached his arms out and gave her a friendly hug, which she returned.

"Thanks!" she said, while in the background, Chris protested – "Hey! You won't hug me!"

"The last time you tried to hug me, Christopher Mancini, you grabbed my ass," Sarah retorted.

As Chris exclaimed that that was all a misunderstanding, Eric made his way to Jareth. Unplugging the guitar from the cord, Jareth presented it to him, solemnly. "I believe this is yours," he said. "Many thanks for letting me borrow it, in your absence."

"Uhh…" said Eric. "No problem, I guess. Man, you really tore it up on this thing. You know, for a second, when I came around the corner, I could have sworn – I mean, has anyone ever told you you look kinda like –"

"Several times today, in fact," said Jareth. "But I assure you, the resemblance is entirely coincidental."

Eric shrugged. "Well, anyway, you were really good. What did you do with that solo? Were those arpeggios? Can you show me?" He proffered the red guitar back to Jareth. Jareth glanced at Sarah, now standing and talking on the grass with Chris, her brother and his girlfriend.

"I would be delighted," said Jareth, and took back the guitar. He showed him where he had added a few extra notes and trills. After several demonstrations, Eric took the guitar back and, taking off his suit jacket, attempted it himself.

Toby came over to them. "Hey," he said to Jareth. "Thanks for helping us out. I didn't realize Eric would be back so soon."

Eric snorted. "I told Chris I'd be here by 12:30. He never listens."

"I'm happy to help," Jareth said to Toby. "You're a good drummer. Solid, and steady, which is important. You have a lot of talent."

Toby grinned. "Thanks! I practice a lot. I used to play in the basement, but mom said it drove her nuts, so I moved my stuff out here, to the garage." He paused. "So… how long have you known Sarah for?"

Less than a day, Jareth thought, but said to Toby, "Since before you were born. A long time."

"But I met you before, you said?"

"Yes," said Jareth. "But you were only a baby. It was a long time ago." The thought seemed to hurt him much less than it had last night. Toby had grown up well.

Toby nodded. "I thought you looked familiar, but I guess it's the whole Bowie thing you've got going on."

Jareth laughed, and they watched Eric try the solo again. He was almost getting it. It sounded much better with the new notes he added, he thought.

Then Toby said, "You're him, aren't you?"

Jareth felt his stomach drop. How… It wasn't possible... There was no way…

"You're the one I was talking to online last night, aren't you? I didn't think that was Sarah."

Jareth let out a breath. "How did you know?" he asked.

"It was pretty obvious. Sarah usually yells at me about my spelling," Toby said. "And she's much better at punctuation than you are. Types faster, too." Jareth laughed again. "Anyway. I haven't seen her dancing or fooling around like that in a long time. She seems much happier today than the last time I saw her. When she brought that Jeff guy."

"Does she?" Jareth asked.

Toby nodded, looking at him curiously. "Yeah. He seemed like a douche. Do you know… what happened? Did he cheat on her, or something?"

Jareth shrugged. "I have my suspicions. But she hasn't told me."

Toby exhaled, angrily. "I wish…"

Jareth looked at the boy, sharply.

He shook his head. "Nevermind. It's weird, you know?" he gestured out to Sarah. "It's like… she's my big sister and everything. I love her. And I always thought she was so awesome. So tough. Moving to New York by herself. She used to tell me these stories, when I was little. About how she battled her way through a fairy tale kingdom so she could save me from being stolen by this terrifying like… lord of the leprechauns, or something."

Jareth laughed, delighted. "Lord of the leprechauns?" He would have to remember that one.

Toby laughed back. "I know, weird, right? She's nuts," he said, fondly. "But like… I always thought she could do anything. And now, sometimes I feel like I just want to protect her. You know?"

Jareth knew.

Eric spoke up. "Sarah's cool," he said. "She's good people." He stood up. "I think I got the solo, now. Thanks for showing me." He pointed towards the house. "Toby, your parents are back."

_A/N: Ah, Toby. He's a clever one, isn't he? Lord of the leprechauns, or something, indeed. I wonder what he would have wished… _

_Apologies to Mr. Jones again. I love this song, but really, what the hell is it about? I have no idea. _


	5. Chapter 5: The Birthday

5. The Birthday

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

"Sarah!" She turned, hearing Karen's voice. The short, red-haired woman was coming through the kitchen, followed by Sarah's dad.

"I'm sorry we're late, sweetheart," Karen said, as Sarah crossed the backyard to them. She gave her a hug. "I had a last minute appointment this morning. Nice young couple, closing on a house a couple of towns over. I had to go check on a few things for them, and then we had to run to the supermarket. Jo called before, by the way. I told her to try later."

"Thanks," said Sarah. "It's okay. We were just listening to Toby's band. Hi, dad," she stretched up, kissed her father on his cheek.

"Happy birthday, princess," he said. "I can't believe you're 30!"

"Ugh," said Sarah. "Don't remind me."

"I'll never forget when you were little, and you used to dress up in that long white dress, with that crown made of flowers…" he reminisced.

"Robert!" scolded Karen. "Don't embarrass her. Go get the burgers." He rolled his eyes, good naturedly, and turned to go into the kitchen. To Sarah, he said, "You don't look a day over 21, princess."

"Thanks, dad."

Karen took Sarah's arm, pulling her slowly towards the garage. "So…" she murmured, conspiratorially. "Are you going to tell me about this friend that Toby told me about this morning, that you didn't tell me about last night?" She looked towards the garage. "He's so handsome."

"It's a really, really, long story, Karen," said Sarah.

"The best ones are," Karen said, and winked. "Introduce me, at least."

They went over, and Sarah introduced her to Jareth, calling him Jay, as she promised. He was charming, and Karen was won over instantly. Then her dad came out with the food, and she went through the introductions again. She went into the kitchen, helped Karen make a quick salad and some iced tea. They went outside to set the patio table, and put down the potato salad and macaroni salad that her parents had brought back from the supermarket. Sarah saw that Jareth and her father were deep in conversation as he grilled the hamburgers. She wondered what they were talking about. In the background, she could hear Toby, Chris, and Eric, as they went through their song again and again, sounding better each time.

"All right," called her dad. He shouted over to her brother and his friends. "Food's ready, Ziggy Stardust, Spiders from Mars! Come eat!"

They all sat down at the long table and helped themselves. Next to her, Sarah watched Jareth's mouth and hands as he ate, delicately. Usually, she hated watching people eat. At work, when she was visiting a client, she sometimes had to do it for hours. It was disgusting. But somehow he seemed to be making even the littlest, most normal things incredibly erotic.

She watched his tongue as it flicked out, licked the corner of his mouth. Oh, God. Her hands trembled slightly as she poured herself another drink.

He caught her staring at him, and grinned. "Yes?" he asked. "Can I help you with something?"

"Um," said Sarah. "More iced tea?" She poured from the pitcher into his glass, swallowing as he reached his hands out to hold it steady for her.

She stared at his hands. So what the hell had that been about, earlier? It must have been magic, she knew. Was that why he wore gloves all the time? So he could control it?

She wanted, very badly, to feel him touch her again. If that was just how he made her feel touching her hand, she couldn't imagine how good his touch would feel everywhere else.

In the interest of thoroughness, she tried to imagine it anyway. She thought of how he had looked at her so passionately, when he was singing before. She imagined him looking at her like that again, his beautiful voice crooning in her ear, his hands, burning and tingling with magic, on the back of her neck, her shoulders, moving lower...

"Are you all right?" Jareth asked her softly. "You've stopped eating."

Sarah gulped at her iced tea. She thought she might pass out.

"Fine," she said, quickly. "Just. Um. Thinking."

And he thought _he_ had trouble controlling himself, Sarah thought. Christ, she couldn't imagine what would happen if she had magic. She'd probably set herself on fire.

She was saved by her stepmother, who said, "So, Jay, Toby says you've met him before? I don't remember meeting you, I'm afraid."

"I didn't have the pleasure," Jareth answered her, politely. "I first saw Sarah in the park. We met when Toby was a baby." At the other end of the table, she could hear Toby and his friends laughing, involved in their separate conversation.

"That long ago! How funny. Were you at school nearby?"

"No," said Jareth. "I wasn't at school. I was a bit older than that, when we met."

Sarah's dad put down his burger. "How much older?" he asked.

Uh oh. She glanced at Jareth, her expression slightly desperate.

Jareth's hand slipped under the table. "Just a bit," he repeated.

This conversation was not going to go anywhere good. What was he doing? Sarah thought.

"So how did you meet Toby?" Karen asked.

"Sarah asked me to watch him for her, while she was with some friends."

Ohhhhh, shit.

"She did _what_?" her dad asked, looking incredibly confused.

Karen was wearing a matching expression. "That doesn't sound like Sarah," she said. "Sarah loved to watch Toby when he was a baby."

Sarah glanced down. Underneath the table, she saw two crystals appear in Jareth's hand. She watched, openmouthed, as he circled them together.

They occasionally brushed against her bare leg. She thought he probably did that on purpose.

"Wait," said her father. "Actually, I think I remember now."

"Oh, yes," said Karen. "Me, too."

"What the fuck are you doing?" hissed Sarah, at him. "Are you fucking hypnotizing them?"

"Something like that," Jareth said. "I am just… rearranging their thoughts, slightly."

"Well, _stop_!" she cried out. The whole table fell silent.

He stopped.

"You can't just do that – you can't just… You can't!" she said, desperately, ineffectually. She looked at Karen and her dad.

They stared back at her. Her dad raised an eyebrow. "Sarah?" he said. "What's wrong?"

She looked back at Jareth again. "Are they… okay?" she said, quietly.

"They're _fine_. Don't you trust me, Sarah? After all this time?"

"I… I don't…"

"I was doing it for _you_," Jareth said to her. "I thought it was what you wanted." He looked hurt.

She put her hand over his, where it was resting on his leg. Only a tiny spark, this time. "Okay," she said. "I know." It was probably better that her parents didn't ask too many questions, anyway. "Just… that's enough." He nodded.

The phone rang. Karen and her father looked at each other.

Mom, thought Sarah. "I'll get it," she said. She ran into the kitchen.

It wasn't her mom.

"Happy birthday, you big dirty S-L-U-T!" the voice of her best friend, Jo, shouted affectionately.

Sarah laughed. She would rather talk to Jo than her mother, any day. "Do you have an eavesdropper? A small, cute eavesdropper who can't spell, yet?"

"She's currently immersed in an episode of Blue's Clues, but I'm never too sure when she's paying attention. So, Sarah," Jo continued. "I tried calling your apartment a few hours ago, but I guess you'd already left. Can you get a cell phone, please? Seriously. So then I called your parents, and Karen started asking me all these questions about this guy you were bringing."

"It's not Jeff," Sarah said, quickly.

"I know," said Jo. "Don't talk to him anymore. He can eat a bag of D-I-C-K-S. Who's the new guy? Do I know him?"

"Um," said Sarah. "Actually, he's not… so new? I told you about him, probably like a million years ago. He's the guy – "

"Oh, God," said Jo. "He's him, isn't he? The older guy, the one that you met when you were in high school? The one you were too scared to kiss? The one you were too scared to call?"

"That's the one," said Sarah. "You remember."

"Sarah!" said Jo. She lowered her voice. "In college, whenever you got drunk, you used to talk for practically _hours_ about this guy! You would never even tell me his name, just that you probably missed out on the best sex of your life because you were a naive little virgin who was too frightened to stay with him! How could I forget!" She paused. "Isn't he like, super old now?"

"Actually," said Sarah. "He looks good. Turns out I was wrong about his age, before. I was wrong about a lot of things about him."

"Where did you find him again?"

"I didn't," Sarah said. "He found me. He came to my apartment, last night, for my birthday. It was… an unexpected surprise."

"Whoa," said Jo. "Resourceful."

Sarah agreed.

"So… how was it? Did it live up to your expectations?"

Sarah looked out the window over the sink, into the backyard. Everyone was still eating. Jareth was telling some sort of story, and her family and Toby's friends were looking at him, captivated. Judging by the way he was flapping his arms at his sides, she thought it involved chickens.

"We haven't… actually… done anything yet?" said Sarah. Besides some incredibly erotic handholding, and a lame attempt at seduction that involved me rubbing his leg, she added silently.

"Yet?" said Jo. "Sarah, did you shave your legs this morning?"

"Yes," Sarah admitted.

"Above the knee?"

"Yes, Jo."

"Bikini line, too?"

"Yes, Jo, okay! Christ! And I'm wearing nice underwear, too. Matching. Okay? I want to sleep with him! Really, really badly. Happy?"

Jo laughed. "Yes! But are you?"

Sarah thought. Only for a second. "I am having a very, very happy birthday so far," she said, and knew that it was true, despite all the strangeness. "It's the best birthday I've ever had."

"Good! He makes you happy. That's one checked off. As for number two on the possible husband material list, does he make you laugh?"

"He does," Sarah admitted.

"And finally, does he make you coffee, and bring it to you in bed?"

"Umm… not yet. Was this really the list we came up with in college?" Sarah asked. "It doesn't seem like a lot to ask."

"Hey, it worked with Tom," said Jo. "That's how I knew I wanted to marry him. He was the only guy who checked all the boxes. I think it's the coffee that throws the other guys off. Such a simple, little thing," she sighed.

"Well, Tom is amazing," agreed Sarah.

Jo laughed, again. "I know," she said, happily. Her voice became more serious. "I just worry about you, Sarah. I feel like sometimes you compare guys to some sort of expectation you have in your head, and no matter what they do, they can never reach it."

Sarah said nothing, thinking.

"Anyway," said Jo. "Maybe this guy will be different, huh? Hey, here's Molly. Molly, want to talk to your Auntie Sarah? It's her birthday!"

"Happy birthday, Auntie Sarah!" came Molly's high, tiny voice. They talked for a few minutes, mostly about Blue's Clues, and then Sarah asked her to put her mommy back on, so she could say goodbye.

"I miss you," Sarah said to Jo. "I wish you weren't so far away. Sometimes I forget you live in California now, and I'm halfway to my door before I realize I can't take the N train to see you anymore."

"I miss you too, babe," Jo said. "Have fun with this guy for me, okay? Take pity on your boring, married best friend and call me after… you know… so I can live vicariously through you. And don't worry that he hasn't made you coffee yet. You've only had him for a day – give the man some time!"

Sarah promised she would, and said goodbye, and hung up.

She walked back into the backyard. Jareth watched her carefully.

As she sat back down, Karen stood up, and began clearing plates. "Was that your mom on the phone?" she asked Sarah, casually. When Sarah, and Jareth, made to stand up to help her, she waved them away.

"It was Jo," Sarah told her, as they sat back down. To Jareth, she said, quietly, "She's my best friend. She moved to California a few years back, when she got married. They have a little girl." She sighed, suddenly sad. Jareth draped his arm over her shoulders, and pulled her close. Sarah's eyes widened, then she relaxed, and rested her head back onto his chest.

She remembered the last time he had held her, how safe she had felt, how good it had been to wind up in his arms after all that endless searching.

_(It's further than you think.)_

It had taken her a very, very long time to figure out what she was looking for.

She listened to his steady breathing, felt his slow heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. He murmured, into her hair, "Don't be sad, precious. It's your birthday."

She turned her face up to him. He had called her that last night, but it had sounded wrong, like a taunt, like a challenge. Now… something was different. "Why do you call me that?"

Maybe it was her.

"It's true," he said. "How many times do I have to tell you? I would never lie to you."

_(Don't you trust me, Sarah? After all this time?)_

Her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth, then back to his eyes. She licked her lips, without thinking, and she saw his eyes darken. His hand, by her shoulder, grew warmer.

His eyes were so beautiful. Such sad eyes, she thought. Like some kind of pale jewel...

He was definitely going to kiss her, this time.

"Who wants cake!" cried Karen, and Sarah, startled, pulled away. She had forgotten about everyone else. Thankfully, no one was looking at her. Except for Jareth.

"Um," said Sarah. "Me. Thank you." She moved herself away from him, by just a few inches.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. They had ice cream cake, and Sarah opened Toby's present, which was a surprisingly pretty silver bracelet, with blue stones. Sarah suspected Katie had helped pick it out. Her dad handed her a card, which Sarah knew had a check in it. "From me and Karen," he said. "Get yourself something you want." Sarah thanked them, and put it in her bag without opening it.

They watched Toby's band some more. Jareth critiqued them ("Christopher, please stop swiveling your pelvis like that. It's not attractive, and frankly, it makes you look like you're having a seizure.") but instead of being offended, Toby and Eric – and eventually, begrudgingly, even Chris – asked for more pointers, more opinions.

By the time Eric and Chris went home, they sounded infinitely better. Chris hugged her goodbye – she let him – but promised that he would come to New York to see her, and they would go clubbing. Sarah, laughing, said she was much too old to do that kind of stuff, now. Katie left shortly after, saying she had to study. Toby walked her home. When he came back, Sarah said that they probably ought to go, too, before it got too late.

She hugged and kissed her parents goodbye, watching as Jareth shook her father's hand, then was smothered in a hug from Karen. The two of them waved, and walked into the house. Jareth held out his hand to Toby. Toby took it, then pulled him into a hug even bigger than the one Karen had just given him.

"Bye, Jay," said Toby. "It was good to see you again."

"Yes," said Jareth. "It was."

"Take care of my sister. Treat her good."

"I will," said Jareth. He caught Sarah's eye. "I'll treat her like a queen." He grinned. "Forever, if she'll let me." He turned, and walked down the driveway to the Beast, humming.

Toby watched him walk away. "There's something…"

"What?" said Sarah, not really paying attention. She was too busy trying to comprehend what Jareth had just said.

"Did you ever feel like you were just about to remember something, but it was just a little far away, a little too… out of reach?" he asked.

"Story of my life, Toby," she said. "Story of my life."

"Oh well," he said. "I'm sure it'll come to me. Anyway. I like Jay. A lot."

"I'm glad." She was. "Good luck on Tuesday, Toby. I know you'll get in."

"If we do, will you come see us in the Battle of the Bands?" he asked.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything."

"Good," he said. "Bring Jay." He hugged her, and she wondered, as she did every time he hugged her, when he had gotten so big. "I hope you had a happy birthday," he said.

"I did," she told him. He waved, and went inside the house.

Sarah walked down the driveway, aware that Jareth was watching her. She kept her face neutral, although her body was begging her hurry to him, that maybe if she did, he would touch her again, hold her. Before he left.

It was getting dark.

She got in the car. "Home, at last?" asked Jareth, as she buckled her seatbelt.

"I kind of… don't want to go home, just yet," Sarah said. "What do you think about going to get a drink?"

Jareth folded his arms behind his head. "I think that's a fantastic idea, precious. Where shall we go?"

"I know somewhere," she said, and started the car.

_A/N: Raise your hand if your friends ever asked you if you shaved your legs, above the knee, before a date, and then they were like, "Ooooh, have funnnn" when you admitted that you did. ::raises hand:: _

_Getting towards the end, now. In the next chapter, Sarah gets some answers, Jareth gets his comeuppance, and then they both get… some... Er. Hmm. _


	6. Chapter 6: The Bar

6. The Bar

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

Jareth studied Sarah as she drove them through the darkening town. He had enjoyed spending the day with her, getting to know her family, getting to know her.

You got to know someone much better when you actually interacted with them, and the people they cared about, instead of scrying through crystals, Jareth admitted to himself. Maybe that was where he went wrong in the first place.

But no, he wasn't going to dwell on what had happened between them before. Things were finally turning around, now. She wanted him. He could see it in her face. She was almost his.

He, of course, had been hers for years.

Although… why wasn't she taking them to her home? He had peered into her bedroom this morning, when she was in the shower, although he hadn't had the chance to search it very well. Her bed had smelled like lavender. He imagined pushing her down into it, her body arching up to meet his.

He flexed his hands, concentrating. He missed his gloves.

He thought about her suggestion to get a drink. Perhaps she just needed some courage. Despite everything, the thought that she was still a little afraid thrilled him, secretly.

Sarah was quiet. He wondered what she was thinking about, and he opened his mouth to ask, when she turned off the road and pulled into a lot, which contained only a few other cars. They got out of Sarah's car, and Jareth looked over at the building they were headed into. It was small, and unspectacular.

Was this the type of place she liked to spend her time? She deserved so much more. Jareth couldn't wait to show her the beautiful ballrooms in his castle, the rose garden. She would love his library.

"It's just a little place," said Sarah, as if she could read his mind. "Nothing special. But they play good music, and my friends and I used to come here when we were younger. They never carded us."

"Good memories?"

"Good, drunken memories," Sarah agreed. She took his arm, and he led her proudly up the path and through the door.

It was laid out partially like a bar, and partially like a nightclub. On the far wall, a man stood on a small, raised stage. He had no instruments, but after observing him for a bit, Jareth determined that he was creating the music. It must have been already recorded, like on Sarah's car radio, and Toby's red box, he decided. In front of the stage was a small dance floor, relatively empty. It was still early.

"Let's sit," said Sarah, leading him to an empty booth in the corner. He wanted her next to him, so he could touch her, but she sat across the table. A waitress brought by three menus – two for food, and one for drinks – then left. "Are you hungry?" Sarah asked him. "I guess it's dinnertime, now."

"Not especially," he said. "But if you need to eat, I will join you."

"What I need is a drink," Sarah said. "But I also need to drive, later."

"I can drive us," said Jareth.

She looked at him, confused. "What? Since when?"

"I can figure it out," he said. "I was watching you, on the way up here. I know how your… vehicle…" Sarah raised an eyebrow at him. "…works. I am very adaptable. I have to be, to live this long, in continued contact with your world."

Her gaze was thoughtful. "I never thought of it like that. You did figure out that guitar really quickly," she acknowledged. "And my computer – by the way, I'm still not entirely sure I've forgiven you for that." She paused. "But then again, you were pretty confused by my blender this morning."

He laughed. "If you don't trust me to drive, then, I can use my magic."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Really? To get us back to Queens?"

Jareth nodded.

"I always thought you could only go back and forth to the Underground, that way. I thought that when you traveled when you were in my world, you turned into an owl."

"I can do both," Jareth told her.

The waitress came back, then. Sarah ordered a glass of red wine, a grape he had never heard of before. Jareth asked for the same. Sarah handed the waitress a thin plastic card.

Then she was looking at him again, her brow furrowed. "There are so many things…"

He waited.

"There are so many things I don't understand. Jareth…"

He would never stop loving the way she said his name. "Yes, precious?"

"You never gave me a present."

He sat up straighter, shocked. "I've offered to give you anything you desire. You need only name it. I can give you beautiful jewels for your wrists, your neck. The most exquisite, finest gowns ever crafted. An army of servants, so you will never have to lift a finger again! I can take you anywhere in your world, and anywhere in mine. I've moved the stars for you, my precious Sarah, and I would do it again. Ask it of me. Name it. Anything. Anything you want! Say it, and I will do it. Wish it, and I will make it come true." Breathless, he waited for her response.

"Okay," she said. "I want answers. Uninterrupted. No keeping track of questions, no games."

He stared at her. He laughed. "Again," he said, "again, you have bested me." He wanted her by his side forever. He reached across the table, and took her hands in his. His magic tingled, like it was laughing along with him.

Or at him. He didn't mind, either way.

The waitress came back, putting two glasses of wine on their table along with Sarah's card. She glanced at their clasped hands, and left, silently.

"Go ahead," he told her. "Ask. But first, I have a request."

"No games," she told him, sternly.

"No games," he repeated. "I promise. Just one request. You can choose not to comply. I cannot force you."

Sarah stared at him, her pale eyes searching his. She nodded.

"Tell me of your last lover. The one who hurt you. Tell me what happened."

She pulled her hands away, and took a long, deep drink of her wine. She paused, staring at him, and returned the card, slowly, to her bag. He was about to take it back, to tell her she didn't have to, when she started talking.

"Jeff and I dated for a year. We were talking about moving in together. I thought… maybe… we would get married. We talked about that, too, sometimes. He's a professor, at a school in the city. A good one. He was smart. Dependable. Made good money. A little cocky, maybe, but treated me well. I thought I was happy. I thought I loved him. He told me he loved me, frequently. We talked about what our children would look like. Whether they would have green eyes like mine." She smiled, quickly and bitterly, and stared at her wine glass, circling the rim with her finger as she continued.

"The other guys I dated… well. They probably weren't so good for me. I tended to go for… bad boys, I guess you could call them." She glanced at him. "That's probably your fault."

Jareth blinked. What?

"They would chase me. I would turn them down. They would get intrigued. They weren't used to being told no. They would build me up in their minds, then try to wear me down, win me over. It would work. I would start to fall for them. Then, after I would give in, we would be happy, for a little while. But then something would be wrong. Whatever they had to offer me, it was never enough. I would start treating them differently. Then they would lose interest – all their promises meant nothing. They would find someone new. And then I would be hurt, and confused, and alone."

Jareth couldn't think of a thing to say to her. His mouth opened, uselessly. He closed it.

She continued. "So. Then I met Jeff. He was so much nicer. So… different. I thought things would be different. Anyway. They were. For a year. Then, a couple of weeks ago, it was our anniversary. I went to his office, to surprise him. I opened the door, and – ta da!" Sarah made an extravagant gesture. "There he was, fucking one of his students on top of his desk. I stood there for probably a whole minute. He didn't even see me."

"Sarah…"

"So _stupid_. I was such an idiot," she continued, like she hadn't even heard him. "I screamed at him, called him a disgusting cliché. I threw a stapler. The girl probably wasn't even old enough to drink. Needless to say, considering how much I was dreading turning 30, my boyfriend fucking a 20-year-old wasn't exactly a self esteem boost. So," she said, looking back at him again. "That's what happened. I guess it wasn't as long of a story as I thought. It's probably the oldest, simplest, stupidest story there is – girl loves boy, boy says he loves girl, boy fucks someone else. And no one lives happily ever after. The end."

"Is it?" he asked her. "Is it the end?"

"Two weeks ago, I would have said that yes, it was," she said, slowly. "But now, I don't think so, anymore. I was so upset, before. But since last night, I've hardly thought of him at all."

Jareth drank some of his wine. He reached over, and took her hand again. He watched her breathing, steadily, and waited.

"Right," she said. She pulled her hand away, took another drink. "No distractions. My turn."

He nodded.

"What are you?"

"What do you think I am?"

"Jareth!" she said. "No games, you promised."

"It's an honest question."

"I think…" Sarah paused, then said, tentatively, "I think you're Fae. Aren't you?"

He nodded. "More or less. Some call us the fair folk, the shining ones. The yakshi. The jinn. We have many names. But yes, it's all the same."

"I did some research, after. Read some books."

"I would expect nothing less," he told her, honestly.

"Are you… English? Your voice…" she trailed off.

"No," he said. "I like this voice. I find it suits me. I can sound like anything I wish. But my kind are older than your countries, older than your kingdoms. We do not follow the same borders or cultures as you."

"Are there many of you?"

"A few thousand, perhaps. Much less than there used to be."

"How come?"

He shrugged. "Wars, mostly. And women of my kind do not have children easily. So, more have died than have been born."

"Toby…" said Sarah. "The children, that are – given – to you. They don't really turn into goblins, do they?"

"Of course they don't," said Jareth. "That's just a fairy tale. Goblins breed in the usual way. They have no trouble conceiving, although I must confess I try not to pay attention. The children are adopted. The adoption process was something that I thought up, actually. Before I was the Goblin King, the goblins usually just ate the wished away children."

"Jesus," said Sarah, in disgust. "Ugh. Would you have… I mean, if I didn't get Toby back. Who would you have given him to?"

"I would have kept him as my heir, and after a time, he would have become one of us, like all the wished away children who grow up Underground."

Sarah's mouth opened in shock.

"Why so surprised? I was very fond of him. I still am. He is a fine child. He will be a good man, and he would have been a good heir."

"I had no idea…" she murmured. "You don't… have a family?"

He shook his head. "My immediate family are all dead, for a long time, now."

"Jareth…" said Sarah. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"They were killed," he said, simply. "Thousands of years ago. And I became the ruler of the Goblin Kingdom some time afterwards. But, again, Sarah – I must apologize. It is a very, very long story, and I do not wish to bore you with it now. We would be here all night."

She nodded. "I understand. Do you… remember them, at all? Do you think of them? I can't imagine, my whole family…"

Jareth looked into her eyes. If he had his way, if she stayed with him, she wouldn't have to imagine. They were only humans, after all – even the boy. Their lives were so short, so fragile. He thought of her dog, of Sarah telling him that he had had a good life. That dogs don't live very long. He felt, suddenly, very old, and very sad.

He answered her question, instead of choosing to dwell on the pain his love would cause her, in the future, if she accepted it. "I used to, often. But now, I find that I can only remember certain things very strongly. My sister's hair, my father's laugh. My brother, wrestling with his dogs. My mother, giving me…" he trailed off.

"What?" said Sarah. "Giving you what?"

"A picture she drew." It was a long, long story. He would have to tell it to her eventually.

"Okay," she said. "Your magic. Explain it to me."

"Also a long story, I'm afraid. Suffice to say that I have a lot of it, more than most of my kind, and it is very powerful. It is hard to control, sometimes, as you have experienced already."

"Is that the reason for the gloves? And the crystals?"

He nodded, pleased. She was so clever. "Yes. Exactly. It's all a means of controlling it."

"And the owl thing?"

"Genetics. Many years of study. Lots of practice, and lots of crashing."

Sarah laughed. "So how does it work, your magic?"

"I'm not sure I can explain it," he said. "It would be like asking you how your blood flows through your body, without you telling it to. Although I suppose you can explain that now, of course, thanks to your science. But magic has no science. It has only rules."

"Rules?" she said, confused. He nodded, and drank more of his wine.

"Yes," he said. "For instance…" he Pulled a crystal, spun it around his right hand. He blew on it, and it turned to a rose. He handed it to Sarah, and she took it, her eyes wide. He smiled. "For instance, I did not create that rose, magically. It already existed, I just moved it from one place to the other. I Pulled it from where it was, through my magic, and then Pulled it through myself, to give to you. This one, for example, came from the rose garden behind my castle. Judging by its color, I'm going to say… near the eastern wall."

She touched its petals, stroking it softly. He continued. "So, just like I cannot create that rose, magic cannot create life. It cannot create death, and it cannot create love."

"I don't understand."

"No life," he said. "Magic cannot create a growing, living, breathing thing. A replica, yes. But not something truly alive. And no death. Magic can wound, and hurt, and cause a slow, eventual decay, but it cannot be used to kill. It cannot ever cause the final harm that leads to instant death."

He paused. Well, he thought, almost not ever. But – a long story. Another time.

"And no love. Magic can charm, and enthrall, and enchant, but it cannot create love, true love, where there is none."

She stared at him. He wished he could ask her what she was thinking. He had promised her no games.

"Okay," she said. "One more question."

He nodded.

"You told me you haven't been sleeping well."

He nodded again. "True. I suppose the last time I truly slept… was around 15 years ago."

Sarah swallowed the last of her wine. "Why?"

"Surely you know the answer to that by now, Sarah? I have not been able to stop thinking of you."

She said nothing. He continued. "I was waiting for you, to Call on me. When I saw you last night – I didn't realize how quickly the years would pass. I was upset with myself, for letting so much time go by for you. For waiting so long to see you again."

"Jareth…" she said, quietly, contemplatively. "Sometimes I think you must hate me."

"I thought I hated you too, at first. As long as we're being completely honest. But I know now that I never hated you. I understand you, now, even though I couldn't before."

"If I had been a little older, maybe – if I had done things differently – "

"It does not matter to me, anymore," he said, and knew that it was true. He watched the emotions blaze across her face. He wanted to take her hand again, but did not know what he would do if she pulled away from him, this time. "What's said is said, what's past is past. If you had done things differently, you would not be my Sarah."

She didn't reply, looking down at the rose he had given her. It was just as well. She had been questioning him for a long time, and he was tired of talking.

She looked up. "I need another drink," she said to him. "I'm going to go to the bar."

"The waitress – " he started.

"I just need a minute," she said. "I just need some time to think. I'll be right back. Just… give me a minute."

He nodded, and watched her walk away from him. She had taken her bag, but left his rose behind.

He waited a minute, then several, then a few more. She did not return.

While they had been talking, the bar had grown crowded. The music, which had been noise in the background only, at first, had grown louder. The dance floor was full. There were so many people, suddenly. Where was she? Where was Sarah?

He was possessed by an urge to find her. He stood up, trying to make his way to the bar, which was at the other end of the dance floor. He pushed his way through the crowd, who all seemed to be staring at him. He thought he could hear their laughter underneath the music. Every time he saw pale skin, long dark hair, a flash of the blue color of the dress she wore, he turned – but it was never her.

Why couldn't he find her? Why was she running from him?

A woman came up to him, rubbing his breasts against him suggestively. He turned from her, only to be confronted by another woman, who trailed her hands down his shirt. He backed up, desperate to get away from them. If he could just find Sarah –

And then he saw her, waiting by the bar, flanked by two tall men, talking to her on either side. But she was looking into the crowd, searching for him, and their eyes met. She smiled, and leaving the men in mid-sentence, walked towards him.

They pushed through the crowd to each other. "There you are," she said. "I was looking for you."

"I waited," he said. "You didn't come back."

"I'm sorry," she said. "I won't make you wait again."

"It does not matter," he told her again. "I will always come to you. Always."

The music stopped, changed, grew slower and sad. "I love this song," Sarah said. "I haven't heard it in so long."

He held his hands out to her. "Dance with me," he said. She hesitated for the briefest second, then stepped into his arms.

To hold her again, to touch her, feel the soft skin of her hands, her arms, where she had wrapped herself around his neck… Jareth couldn't find the words. His hands lingered on her waist. He moved his thumbs against the fabric of her dress, gently.

The woman singing as they danced had a wonderful voice, low and beautiful, sarcastic and sweet. She no longer wanted to hunt, to play, to search, to tempt. She was begging to love, and to be loved, instead.

He pulled Sarah closer. She sighed, happily, against his chest. He thought his heart would burst with pleasure. The ache, the hole, that had been left there by her absence had been filling, slowly, all day, and now it was overflowing, with the happiness that she caused in him.

The song crescendoed, the melody spinning, the guitar spiraling higher and higher. He felt the thudding of the bass like a second heartbeat.

He looked down at Sarah. She was looking up at him, her arms around his neck.

Her eyes. They would destroy him, over and over. He would let her. He would let her have whatever she wanted. He would do whatever she asked.

He wanted to rule her. He wanted to be her slave.

She was so beautiful. She was so vulnerable, and so strong. His cruelest opponent. His most worthy Queen. His only love.

The song seemed to pause, to hover on a sharp, delicate point. And then, the woman sang:

_For this is the beginning, of forever, and ever…_

Sarah was still gazing at him, her eyes clear. He took the words as a sign, and kissed her.

He was not going to lie to himself. He had imagined kissing Sarah many, many times. But he had forgotten to imagine one important thing.

He had forgotten to imagine her kissing him back.

It was even better than he could have dreamed. He touched her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth, eagerly. He tangled his hands in her hair. She did the same to him. She whimpered, then moaned, and he was lost.

The song shuddered, faded. Sarah pulled away, gasping. Around them, the crowd began to come back to life.

"Jareth," she said. "Please – "

"Yes," he said. "Anything. Anything." His skin felt like it was on fire. He was burning, aching for her. He wanted her to feel it. He pressed her closer, and she gasped again.

Her voice was desperate as she said, "Take me home. Right now."

They were gone in less than a second.

He Sent them directly to Sarah's bedroom, where he kissed her again, hard, and walked her towards the bed. He had lost all control of his magic, now, and it was flowing freely through his hands, causing Sarah to moan brokenly, and shudder with every touch.

He pushed her down into the bed, working his legs between hers, kissing her neck. He couldn't decide where to put his hands. He wanted to touch her everywhere. Her waist, her hips, her trembling stomach, her breasts.

Her legs fell open, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her thighs. He stroked her there, lightly, gently, the barest touch, and she gasped his name and arched her back.

"Jareth…"

He was lost, completely. His control had long fled. He pushed his hips against her, between her legs. He could feel how warm she was. He could _smell_ her, how much she wanted him.

He moved his hand up her thigh, pushed his hips against her, harder. She writhed underneath him. She moaned. "My Sarah," he hissed, through gritted teeth. "Yes. _You are mine_."

She stopped moving. Through the haze of his lust, he felt her pull back, pull away. She sat up, drawing her legs closed as she reached into the top drawer in the nightstand by her bed. She pulled something out, pressed it into his hand.

He swallowed, looked down. He willed his magic to still, his heart to calm down.

It was incredibly difficult.

"What is this?" he asked her.

"It's protection," she said. How was her voice so calm?

"Protection?" he asked, confused. He studied the flat, square packet, reading the writing. Ah.

"Against diseases. And pregnancy." She looked at him, defiantly, and he loved the stubbornness in her stare.

He tried to match the calmness in her voice. "Sarah. Precious thing. I cannot contract… diseases," he told her. "My blood is immune. Either way, you have none either. You are healthy. If you weren't, I would be able to smell it on your skin, or in your blood."

"Really?" she asked, incredulous. "You would be able to… smell it?"

"Yes," he told her. "I would not – "

"Lie to me," she finished. "I know."

"And yet, still you question me," he said, fondly.

"Of course," she said. She smiled. "And… the rest?"

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to picture Sarah, heavy with his child. One day, he told himself. Not now.

"It would be very rare," he said. "For you to conceive, with me, Aboveground. If you like, I can cast a spell, to stop my seed."

"Um," she said. "You can do that?"

"And yet, still you question me," he said, again.

"Sorry," she said. "Please. Go ahead."

He concentrated, and Pulled a crystal. He concentrated again, then Vanished it. He nodded at her. She took back the square packet from him, and put it on her nightstand.

Then she stood up. "I'm just going to go…" she said, and gestured vaguely towards the bathroom. "I'll be back in a minute." Perhaps remembering what had happened the last time she said that, she added, quickly, "Promise. Just a minute."

He nodded again, and she left the room. He heard the bathroom door shut.

Leaning back, he stretched himself into Sarah's bed. As disappointed as he was by the interruption, he was glad of the chance to regain control. He thought of her stubborn stare as she challenged him. Some things never changed.

Her bed was very comfortable. Firm, but not too hard. Just how his was, in his chambers. He thought that was a good sign. He waited for her, peacefully, resting in her bed. His eyelids seemed to keep fluttering shut of their own accord. He was very tired, suddenly.

It had been so long since he could close his eyes without seeing Sarah's own, flashing cruelly, haunting him. But now he had seen her eyes when she was laughing, and smiling, and gazing up at him with passion, with devotion, with delight. He saw them whether his own eyes were closed, or open.

His eyes closed.

He thought of Sarah, as she had appeared in her dream. The one he had tried to Walk into, only to find that she had dreamt him there already. She was there now, a little older, a little taller, a woman grown. She was still the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

She was staring at him, but it wasn't with the combination of confusion, and fear, and wonder that he had so craved before. It was with happiness. She was smiling. It was even better. He drew her to him, and kissed her, and spun them away through his ballroom, and down a path between the stars.

_A/N: Oh, Jareth, you old, old man. Wake up! _

_Jareth doesn't know the song that's playing in the bar, when he's dancing with Sarah, but I do: it's called Glory Box, and it's by Portishead. It's a good song._

_PSA: Unless you are sleeping with a magical Goblin King, please use protection. _

_One chapter left, now. Hmm… I wonder what could *possibly* happen...  
_


	7. Chapter 7: The Beginning or, The End

7. The Beginning (or, The End)

_Disclaimer: I own none of this, and I promise not to turn it into a dirty e-book and make money off of it. _

_Warning: This is rated M, for language, and lust, and love, and other indoor sports._

Sarah stood in her bathroom, staring into the mirror.

She was really going to do this.

The Goblin King was in her bed, waiting for her.

No.

Jareth was in her bed, waiting for her. That, for some reason, made a difference.

She unzipped her dress, and stepped out of it, thanking the strange premonition, the foresight, the… inevitability… that she had felt this morning, that had caused her to wear her good underwear.

She wondered what she would tell Jo tomorrow.

It would be good. She knew it would be good. Already, just his touch on her bare skin had given her more pleasure than any man who had ever touched her before him.

And they hadn't even taken off any clothes yet.

But what would happen tomorrow, when it was no longer her birthday, and he was gone? What then?

She had tried, all day, not to fall. She had failed, miserably.

She looked down at her body, in her lacy black bra and matching underwear. She looked pretty good, she knew. She could fill out a bikini easily, and wear it, in public, with minimal embarrassment. But still, she wondered how many women he had been with, and how she would compare. She wondered if she would live up to his expectations.

She shook her head. Focus, Williams! Jareth is in your _bed. _He's waiting for _you_, and you promised you wouldn't keep him waiting.

Fuck it, thought Sarah. She pushed open the door, and walked, in her underwear, back to her bedroom.

He was asleep.

She couldn't believe it.

He was _asleep_!

While she had been in the bathroom, his clothes had changed back to what he was wearing this morning. His long hair, his arched eyebrows. His gloves. All had returned.

It was a shock, to see him like this again.

And, she realized with another shock, he was wearing his boots. In her _bed_.

She shook him, roughly, by his shoulder, suddenly furious. "Wake up," she hissed at him. He didn't move.

She yanked at his boots, pulling and swearing and still wearing only her underwear as she tugged them off. They dropped to the ground.

He was wearing green and white striped socks. She smiled, and laughed, and fell for him all over again.

As soon as she laughed, he stirred. Still asleep, he murmured her name, quietly, happily. She sighed. She turned from him, and pulled her pajamas out of her dresser. She bent over in front of him, naked, as she changed. He didn't move. Definitely asleep.

She turned off her light, shut her door, and crawled into her bed, beside him. She arranged him so that he had some covers. In his sleep, he turned towards her, pulled her into his arms. She relaxed. "You can't go," she said, quietly. "You haven't told me all those long stories. I want to know how they end. You promised."

She looked at her clock. It was nearly midnight.

"Goodnight, Goblin King," she said. Then, softer, "Goodbye, Jareth."

She closed her eyes.

* * *

When Sarah opened her eyes, her clock said 3:13am. Her room was full of moonlight. In her bed, she was alone.

Her heart sank, much faster and much deeper than she thought it capable of. You knew where this was going, she reminded herself. You knew what the ending to this story would be.

"Still hurts, though," she muttered out loud, rolling over to stare at the ceiling.

"What hurts you, precious?"

"HOLYFUCK," Sarah shouted, bolting upright in her bed. Jareth was standing at her window, silhouetted in the light of the moon. His back was towards her, and he was staring down her street. She caught her breath, her heart pounding. "Ohmygod. You scared me!"

He laughed softly. She edged towards him, and sat at the foot of her bed. He turned to her. "What hurts you?" he repeated.

"Nothing. I mean… You! You fell asleep!" she accused.

"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"We were…" said Sarah. "I mean, I thought…"

"I was very tired," he said. "I haven't been… sleeping well, lately."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry."

He laughed again, and took a few steps closer to her bed.

"Are you feeling better, now?" she asked.

"I've been feeling better all day," he said. "I am with you."

Me too, she thought, but when she opened her mouth, she said only, "I was wearing nice underwear. They matched."

He smiled, reached out his gloved hand, and stroked the strap of her worn tank top. "Oh?" His fingers brushed against her shoulder.

She swallowed. Nodded. "I changed, after I saw you were asleep. I couldn't wake you. I thought… when I woke up, you would be gone."

His eyes left her shoulder, and he looked at her questioningly. "Why did you think that?"

"It's just… It's a new day. It's not my birthday, anymore."

He tilted his head towards the moon, hanging low in her window. "Still dark. It's not a new day. Not yet."

She swallowed again. "No. Not yet," she agreed.

He took a step towards her, bent his face down to hers. He was so close. She could feel the warmth coming from his skin. "Do you…" His voice was soft, and Sarah wanted so badly to reach out to him, to touch his face, his pale hair. In the moonlight, he was almost glowing. "Do you wish I would leave?"

Do I wish? she thought. I used to wish. It's been so long.

_(Fifteen years. It's been a long time, Goblin King.)_

Tentatively, she reached out her hand. She lightly traced his eyebrows, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, which she had so brazenly stroked just one night before. It seemed like ages ago. Like once upon a time.

It seemed like it mattered much more, now.

His eyes had closed. He was waiting for her, to answer him. To use her right words.

"No," she said. "I wish… I wish you would stay."

And then he was kissing her again, his mouth hot on hers, his hands tangling in her hair. Kissing him back, she tried to simultaneously wriggle back up her bed and pull her tank top off. It didn't work, and she broke away from his lips, and in seconds, her shirt was off and she was tugging her shorts down. She kicked them to the end of the bed, and looked at Jareth.

He stared at her.

"Well?" she said.

He stared at her in wonder, like he couldn't believe she was real.

"Sarah," he said, his voice rough. And then he was tearing at his shirt, and unbuckling his belt, and – oh God – pulling off his gloves with his teeth. She heard the heavy thud of his boots hitting her floor. He covered her with his body, and his hand hovered over her skin uncertainly, as if he didn't know where to start.

She palmed his hand with hers, locking their fingers together. She felt the pulsing heat coming from him, and it felt like a fire she wanted to drown in. "Jareth," she said. He moaned, brokenly, and then he was kissing her again, and his burning hands were everywhere, and his lips were trailing down her neck.

And then he was crooning to her, whispering against her skin. That she was beautiful. That he wanted her, needed her. That he had missed her. That she was his queen, and he was her slave.

And much, much, much too soon, she was twisting, trembling, hovering – and then the world fell down, and the stars moved, and she was lost.

She pulled his face up to hers and kissed him, trying to tell him everything she was feeling with her lips, her mouth and her body, because right at this moment, she didn't trust her words.

He hovered over her. She tangled her legs with his, brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. He touched her face, gently.

"Sarah," he breathed, and her name on his lips was a plea, a promise, a song.

_(It's only forever. Not long at all.)_

"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes."

* * *

After, she lay on his chest, her face buried in his neck. His hands stroked her back, not quite as burning hot now, but still pleasantly warm. Sarah's whole body was humming with pleasure. She yawned, hugely, and she felt Jareth laugh into her hair.

"Why am I so tired?" she murmured.

"I've exhausted you," Jareth told her.

"Yes, you are exhausting," she said playfully. "No, wait." Mimicking his voice, she said, "I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me, in bed."

He chuckled again. His hands were warm on her back, stroking and soothing her. "It's also nearly dawn. You should sleep, Sarah."

No, she wanted to say. The sooner I sleep, the sooner I'll wake up. The sooner you'll be gone. But she found herself yawning again, and her eyes were drifting shut. His arms felt so good around her. She had never felt so safe as she had when she was being held by this strange, mercurial, otherworldly, villainous, beautiful, wonderful, terrible Goblin King.

He was humming softly, and as she fell asleep, she realized that it was the song from her old music box.

* * *

She opened her eyes. Her bed was empty, again. Her room was filled with light, again. But it was sunlight, and her clock told her it was almost 10am.

There was no slim shape, standing silently by her window. There was nothing by her dresser, no one by her closet. Her door was shut.

"Still hurts, though," she said, quietly, and waited. Nothing answered her.

Sighing, she got out of bed, and went to the window, wrapping the sheet around her. She looked down the street. By the overpass, she could make out some kids playing ball in the empty lot. She sighed again. She wondered where her car was.

Sarah wasn't a crier. She hadn't cried for a very, very long time. She thought maybe she would indulge herself. She thought maybe she deserved it. She reached up, to pull the curtains shut, and then her bedroom door opened.

Jareth stood in her doorway, framed by the sunlight. His golden hair was almost glittering, and he was smiling at her. She had never seen anyone, anything, more beautiful than him.

He had his hands behind his back. He took a step towards her.

"I've brought you… a gift," he said.

"Now, where have I heard that before?" asked Sarah, her voice in that strange place between crying and laughing. "Is it a gift for an ordinary girl?"

He shook his head. "Of course it's not. It's for you." He pulled his hands from behind him. He was holding her pink cow mug. "I tried to make it how you like it," he said. "Dark, and sweet. I think I may have broken your machine, though. Should it be smoking, very much?"

Oh God, thought Sarah. He made me coffee. He made me coffee, and he was bringing it to me, in bed. "I can't hear the smoke detector, so I think we're good," she said.

He extended his hand a bit further, offering her the mug. "If you turn it this way…" he said.

"It'll show me my dreams?" asked Sarah, still trying to wrap her head around the fact that Jareth, the Goblin King, had made her coffee, was bringing it to her in bed, and was still here, with her, in the morning, after.

"No," he said, amused. "It's just coffee, Sarah. If you turn it this way, you can take it by the handle, so you don't burn yourself." She laughed, and did as he said, and took it from him. She took a sip.

It was like drinking rocket fuel. Well, she thought, she and Jo had never specified that it had to be drinkable coffee. It was a good try. That's what counts.

"Good?" he asked.

She nodded. "It's a little strong, though," she said. "But not bad, for your first try."

"Ah," he said. "Well, next time, I'll do better."

"I know," said Sarah, and thought, oh God, he made me terrible coffee. He made me terrible coffee, he makes me laugh, and next time… There would be a next time, and the thought made her deliriously happy.

Sarah walked over to her nightstand, placed the coffee down, and crawled back into her bed. Jareth followed, arranging himself so that he was holding her again. She looked down, and rolled her eyes. He was still wearing his boots.

"We have got to do something about you putting your shoes on my furniture," Sarah said.

"Next time," Jareth said happily, and wiggled his feet. He stroked her hair. "Sarah," he said.

"Mmm?"

"Come back to the Labyrinth with me."

"Mmm," she said. "Wait, what?"

"Come back with me. Stay with me."

Sarah rolled to her side, out of his arms, where she could think better. "Like, forever? For good? What are you asking me, Jareth?"

_(I ask for so little.)_

"Exactly what I've said. Everything I've said. My offer still stands."

"Your… offer," repeated Sarah, remembering.

_(Fear me. Love me. Do as I say, and I will be your slave.)_

"As far as offers go," she said, "I have to admit, it's one of the stranger ones I've gotten."

"What do you mean?" said Jareth, frowning. He sat up. "You told me you didn't understand it before, but I thought… It's been a long time. Things are different, now. Is that a no?"

"No…" said Sarah, slowly. "It's an, I don't know. I'm not sure. You told me that you ask for so little, but I don't think you ever really _asked_ for anything in the first place. You just demanded. If we do this… Jareth, if we do this, it can't just be about what you want, or what you have to offer – it has to be about what I want, and what I have to offer, too."

"But… I have _always_ done what you wanted."

"Have you?" she asked. "You've always done what you thought I wanted, but was it really what I did want?"

He paused, thinking, then asked, "And what is it you want, Sarah?" They had circled back to this question again. He had asked it the night before last. She thought she had a better idea now, but still…

"I don't know," she repeated. "Your offer… what you said, years ago…"

"Yes?"

"I don't want that."

Sarah could see the set of Jareth's shoulders, tightening as he drew away from her. "I see."

"No, Jareth, listen. I don't _want_ to fear you. I don't _want _you to be my slave. Don't you understand?" He was still pulling away from her. "That's not what people do! That's not the way it's done!" she said, desperately. "That's not how relationships work!"

He stopped moving, and looked at her again. "Relationships?"

"Yes," she said, relieved. "Relationships."

"Ah." He paused, thinking. "And… what about the part where you do as I say?"

"Well," said Sarah, smiling mischievously at him, "If I did as you said _all_ the time… that wouldn't be very fun, now would it?"

He laughed, and pulled her back into his arms again. "My Sarah," he said, happily. "No," he agreed, "it wouldn't. And… the last part?"

The last part.

Sarah knew she loved him. She knew now that she had loved him for a very, very long time, that no boy or man had ever stood a chance compared to him, had ever lived up to the unfair expectations she had set because of him. Jareth, the Goblin King. Her smirking, sneering, preening, maddening basis for comparison.

She loved him. She just wasn't sure she was ready to tell him that, yet.

"I need – I need more time."

"Time?" asked Jareth. "Is that all? I can give you that."

"What do you mean?"

"Stay with me. A week. Seven days, seven nights. At the end, I will return you here, to your home, to the same time that you left. Then you can decide."

Damn, she thought. I don't even have to use up any of my vacation days. To Jareth, she said, and tried not to smirk, "You're still not asking."

Jareth took her hands in his, and asked, solemnly, and a little bit exasperatedly, "Sarah Williams, will you please come back to the Labyrinth with me, Jareth, the Goblin King, for seven days and seven nights, upon which point I will return you to your home and the time when you left and then you can decide whether what I have to offer you is what you want?" He took a breath. "Please?"

"No games?" she asked. "No tricks?"

"Sarah…" he said, with a hint of warning. "I – "

"Would never lie to me. I know, I know."

She thought some more.

"Tell me one thing," she said. "The wish, that Karen made, for my birthday…" she trailed off, thinking.

"Yes? I'm afraid I didn't hear it," he said.

She looked at him. "At all? You didn't know… what she said?"

He shook his head. "No. I thought you knew that."

"I still don't understand. The wish said…" What had it said?

_(I wish you a very, very happy birthday.) _

_(I wish you the best birthday you have ever, ever had.)_

But that wasn't it, was it? She had kept talking… what had she said? Focus, Williams, Sarah told herself, willing herself to remember.

And then she did.

_(I wish you an eternity of happiness.)_

_(I wish you everything you want in life, forever.)_

Holy shit, thought Sarah. She didn't just wish me a happy birthday. She wished me a happily ever after. She wished me a forever.

"Really, Sarah," said Jareth. He was smiling at her. "I thought you would have figured it out by now. The wish may have brought me here, yes. But it wasn't the wish that kept me here. It was you."

"Holy shit," said Sarah.

"Holy shit," Jareth agreed. "And now – for my offer? My… new, offer?" he corrected himself, quickly.

She looked at him. He was so happy. She wanted him to look at her like that, forever.

"Yes," she said. "I accept your offer, Goblin King. Jareth."

He shouted, delighted, and pinned her to the bed.

"Now," he said, his eyes dark, and wicked. "I have to go back first, without you. I have been away, and… preoccupied… for a long time. There are things I must take care of. I will call for you, after sunset."

Sarah nodded.

"But first…" he said. He tugged the sheet down, exposing her skin. "First… one for the road?"

She pulled him down to her, and kissed him.

* * *

After, when one had turned into two, and then three, and she had finally, laughing, shoved him off her, and told him that if he didn't go back, and let her get dressed, and get her stuff together, she would wish that the goblins would come and take him away right –

He laughed, and was gone.

After that, she called Jo.

"Hello?" she answered.

"He made me coffee," said Sarah. "He made me coffee, and brought it to me, in bed."

Jo whooped so loud that Sarah had to hold the phone away from her ear.

* * *

The sun set.

Sarah stood in front of her door. Jareth was calling her.

She answered.

* * *

_A/N: So! The end! I hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and favorited, and alerted, and just read along. It is much more than I expected for this little (or not-so-little) story that showed up in my head one day. _

_And speaking of stories, I know I – and Jareth – owe you several long ones. Rest assured that they are waiting patiently, in my brain, to come out in the next one. _

_Which I have already started. _

_See you soon!_


End file.
